


Older

by KairosImprimatur



Series: Older'verse [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betrayal, Cruciamentum, Episode: s02e13 Surprise, Episode: s02e14 Innocence, Episode: s02e15 Phases, Episode: s02e16 Bewitched Bothered and Bewildered, F/M, Gen, Loss of Virginity, Older Characters, Rats, Vampire Slayer(s), Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-28 02:44:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 37,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KairosImprimatur/pseuds/KairosImprimatur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy was Chosen when she was sixteen instead of fifteen. She moves to Sunnydale for her junior year of high school. Everyone else is proportionally older as well. That's it. That's the only change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Surprise: Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a major project of mine that still hasn't gotten very far. I do have big plans for it, if only - you know the drill. In any case, this chaptered story is the backbone of my "Older'verse", which should, if the stars align, someday become a complete series retelling.

“This looks funky,” said Buffy. “Stop for a sec.”

Miss Calendar had a clear view through the windshield at what Buffy found funky: two men being a little too discreet about loading some large boxes onto a truck, especially considering it was past sundown. Her first response, though, was to give her an incredulous look. “So we can do what? In your current state...”

Buffy didn’t want to think about her current state. The loss of her powers had been by turns frustrating, frightening, and supremely inconvenient so far, and it had only been a day. She was sure it was going to take a lot longer than that to get used to not being the Slayer, and she hoped it wasn’t going to last long enough to find out. “I just want to know if they’re vamps,” she bargained. “We can...tell Giles.”

“Okay,” said Miss Calendar, switching off the headlights and swinging the car in that direction. “But please, humor me and stay in the car.”

She rolled to a stop near the truck as one of the men got into its driver’s seat, and Buffy got a closer look at the other, who was headed across the lot with the last of the boxes. “Sorry,” said Buffy, opening the car door and getting out before Miss Calendar could stop her. “I’m suddenly not feeling very humorous.”

The man with the box hesitated briefly when he saw her, but then he kept walking, and Buffy dared to hope that she was wrong about what her intuition was telling her. “Ford?” she called out.  
He stopped, still too far away for her to make out any details of his face. “Summers,” he greeted her flatly, erasing the remainder of her doubt. “What are you doing here?”

“Conducting some independent research on people who were supposed to be dead. Care to participate?”

“Hate to disappoint, but as far as I’m concerned I was never supposed to be dead, so things worked out just fine here.” He shifted the box up to his shoulder, stealing a glance toward the truck. “So, we’ll catch up later, maybe?”

Buffy’s hopes sank further. She remembered how excited she had been when he moved to Sunnydale, and how learning of his cancer had devastated her. That it had driven him to sacrifice the lives of innocents for his own sake was far worse than the mere prospect of losing him again, and her own arrival at the scene of the crime, too late to change anything, was the next level of horror. And now this. “Let’s catch up now. Are you still worshiping vampires?”

Ford actually snickered. “No, no need. You still trying to slay them?”

It was the ‘trying to’ that got her. She had left the car with her hand still wrapped around a stake, hardly noticing that she had it, but now she felt like it was transmitting her Slayer instincts into her while the associated powers were on vacation. “Let’s find out.”

He turned and bolted, and she had to give chase. The huge box in his arms was slowing him down, but she wasn’t at her top speed either, and she couldn’t tell if he was going to reach the truck. She also wasn’t sure what she was going to do if she managed to catch up to him first. Sure, he didn’t know that she was currently stuck with the strength of a mere mortal, but if she attacked him he’d find out soon enough. Maybe she should just...

Headlights beamed suddenly in Ford’s path, and Miss Calendar’s car spun out in front of him, cutting him off. He skidded to a halt and whipped around to see Buffy closing in on him from the other side. Illuminated as he was by the headlights, his face was plainly in its demonic visage, and the sight of it shook Buffy’s nerves all over again. He snarled at her, and then seemed to make a snap decision and dropped the box. With inhuman grace he vaulted over the back of the car and disappeared into the night, and Buffy opened the passenger side door and stopped to lean on it, panting heavily. “Thanks,” she managed between gasps. The truck had screeched away with Ford’s vampire accomplice at the wheel, but she hoped she had disrupted their plan at least enough to make up for putting this much effort into a confrontation with no kill at the end.

“We’d better grab that box,” the teacher replied. 

Between the two of them they managed to get it in the trunk before anything else unsavory showed up, and then, to Buffy’s confusion, Miss Calendar drove no further than the block it took to get to the Bronze’s parking lot. “Everyone’s inside,” she explained as she turned off the car. “You want me to get the guys? We could have them carry the box.”

“We can carry stuff without guys!” Buffy insisted. “God, one day as Powerless Girl and everyone starts treating me like a...powerless girl. And now rewind ten seconds and _why_ exactly is everyone inside when the Bronze is closed?”

“For your surprise party,” said Miss Calendar as she opened up the trunk again. She cast Buffy a rueful look. “Surprise.”

“Oh.” So vampires had crashed the festivities again, as if she didn’t have enough on her plate already. On the other hand, being mad at them for it was actually kind of a nice distraction from her other worries. Maybe it would even prove to be the danger from her dream last night, and then she could cross that mystery off the list. “Is there a cake in there? I could so use a sugar fix.”

There was no way to cancel the cheer that followed her entrance, but Buffy was glad enough to see everyone that she didn’t mind the way it died down when they saw that she and Miss Calendar were occupied with something else entirely. Not only was there a cake, but there were decorations, presents, Willow in a party hat, and best of all, Angel taking the heavy box from her arms without asking what it was. Soon they were all gathered around the box on the table while Buffy and Miss Calendar related the events that had brought it to them.

“You’re lucky you got a chatty wuss vampire,” said Cordelia. “I mean, the way you are now, any serious one would have kicked your ass.”

Everyone was looking over Buffy: she was unharmed, but she knew she looked nearly numb. She definitely felt it. “It was Ford,” she said quietly. “The vampire was Ford. I guess Spike gave him what he wanted after all.”

“Oh, Buffy,” breathed Willow, her eyes wide with distress. “I’m so sorry.”

Angel said nothing, but shock was evident on his face too, and Buffy didn’t hesitate to move into his arms and accept his embrace. She had done her best so far to avoid depending on him during her time of weakness, at least in the presence of her friends, but he was the only one who understood the true depth of how Ford’s murder-suicide had affected her, and she needed to feel his support now.

Oz cleared his throat, and Buffy looked up, registering for the first time that he was there. Willow must have brought him as her date! That was perfect. They were going to be so good together. She couldn’t wait to get Willow alone to hear her gushing about him.

“So,” said Oz, “when Buffy says Ford is a vampire...”

Xander positioned himself a little too close to Willow and replied, “Right. When she says ‘vampire,’ what she means is ‘evil undead creature of the night who wants to drink your blood, and is by the way completely real.’ Lots of ‘em live in Sunnydale. Willow will fill you in.”

Willow obliged, beginning a conversation that broke off from that of the rest of them too soon for Buffy to see if Oz believed what he was hearing. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to tell even if she did see, honestly: Oz’s expression wasn’t that great of an indicator. 

“Hey Buff,” said Xander, turning back to her and the box. “Are you gonna open this, or should we shake it first and try to guess?”

Buffy ran her hand around the lid. “There’s a release here. Should I?”

Giles caught her eye and nodded. “If there were, ah, vampires attempting to secure it, we should see what it is they wanted.”

Her hand went to the catch, but Angel’s landed on top of it and stopped her. “Can I? It might be...” He shrugged sheepishly in response to her raised eyebrow and admitted, “I don’t know what it might be.”

“Fine,” she laughed, stepping back to give him full access to the box. “Have at it.”

Seconds later there was a disembodied arm holding him by the throat. Buffy very nearly screamed, but instead she grabbed at it and tried to pull it off of him. Giles, standing on the other side of Angel, was having no more luck than she was-—the arm was armored, and its grip was so tight that neither of them could budge even a finger of it. Angel was the one who had to wrench it off of himself, and as soon as he did, he threw it back down in the box and slammed the lid shut.

“Are you okay? Angel? Are you okay?” Buffy stammered, and he set a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Yeah,” he wheezed. “No big deal. Can’t be choked. Remember?”

Her heartbeat returned to its normal pace as she saw that he was right; the hand hadn’t truly endangered him. She might have actually done more damage to her own fingers by her ineffectual clawing at the solid metal, and he seemed to think so too, as he turned her hand over in his to look at it.

“Is this another vampire thing?” asked Oz.

Buffy nodded, not really paying attention. “Yeah, vampires don’t need to breathe, so they can’t be choked.”

“I meant the arm,” he clarified, and then, after a pause, asked, “Angel’s a vampire?”

“Oh, there’s some more explaining I have to do,” said Willow apologetically, and then turned to Buffy and Angel. “Are you guys sure you’re okay?”

Angel leaned forward, hands on the table. “I think I know what this is.” He looked directly at Buffy. “And I don’t think Ford is the one behind it.”

*********

“So, you know how I said vampires are evil and Buffy has to kill them or they’ll kill us? Well, there’s one exception, but he’s the only exception, so still please be really careful if you see any others. Angel was all gypsy-cursed with a soul and a conscience...Oz?”

“I’m listening.”

Willow nodded; she could tell he was listening. He was good at showing it. “I just have to wonder, are you really believing all of this, or are you just holding out to see how much crazier I’ll get before the night ends?”

He shrugged. “Well, you all seem pretty on board with the vampire story, so I figure it’s either the truth, or I walked into the middle of a _really_ elaborate larp. And the larp would actually explain less.”

“You’re so cool!” Willow bit her lip. She hadn’t exactly meant to say that out loud. “I mean...doesn’t it scare you?”

“Oh, it’s got definite scare potential. We’ll see.” 

“Alright, then. Um. Do you have any other questions?”

Oz put his hand in his chin for a moment, then met her eyes and asked, “Have you ever seen _A Summer Place_?”

“...I meant about vampires and stuff.”

“I know, but if the vampire questions go on for too long we might not get back to the Willow questions while the time is ripe.” He smiled, a sight so charming that she was without any defense against it.

“Oh, well, in that case…” She thought about it. “I have questions too.”

“Fire away.”

Suddenly she was completely unable to differentiate the important queries from the rest of the ones bombarding her mind, and, as so often happened, she opened her mouth anyway. “Why didn’t you graduate last year? What’s a larp? What are they talking about over there?”

They both turned to listen to the conversation around the table. It had elevated to an argument at this point-—everyone had agreed that Angel needed to take the box away, but Miss Calendar was urging him to do it this very night, and Giles seemed to feel differently. Buffy, naturally, had taken his side, though he wasn’t being entirely clear about _why_ he was on that side, and her pleas were having some sort of effect on Angel’s resolve.

“It’s my birthday,” she said to him. “Just a few more nights won’t make a difference. Right Giles?”

“One more certainly won’t,” he agreed, rubbing furiously at the glasses in his hand with a kerchief.

Miss Calendar crossed her arms. “How can you be so sure of that? They’re probably already looking for this thing. As long as it’s in Sunnydale it’s putting us all in danger.”

“Surely we can keep it concealed for a single night. I’ll put it in my own house.”

Angel cut in before she could retort. “They know you. We’d never be able to get it out of there without being attacked.”

Xander stopped scowling at Cordelia, who was across the table from him occupying herself with Buffy’s birthday cake, long enough to submit his opinion. “Yeah, you and the insta-choker should hit the road. Sooner the better.”

“Rupert, we have too many other things we’re dealing with. Angel can get this one taken care of right now if we just let him go.”

“Well I’m glad this is so _easy_ for all of _you_!” Buffy fumed, sounding considerably younger than the eighteen years she had just reached.

Willow wanted to find some words of support, but there was nothing she could say to help either side reach a decision. Usually, they could all count on Giles to know what kind of action needed to be taken, but he had been the first to cite the great danger that the Judge would bring if assembled, and it was enough to make Willow feel nervous about just being in the same room as the arm. 

Mostly, she had to wonder if Buffy was afraid to lose Angel’s protection while she was still without her own power, and if she would ever admit it, or if anyone would dare to ask. Maybe that was  
what all of them were thinking.

“I’ve got it,” said Angel, attracting everyone’s attention even though more than one voice had been trying to make itself heard. “There’ll be a cargo ship at the dock that’s not leaving until tomorrow. I can hide the box there for tonight and then leave with it tomorrow.”

There was a silence as the sense of this plan sank in for everyone. Giles and Miss Calendar were looking from Angel to each other. Angel wasn’t looking anywhere but at Buffy, and even at her distance, Willow could see his shame as he failed to find words that could make it better. “Then let’s go,” Buffy said finally. “The cake can wait.”

Willow turned anxiously to Oz, wondering what he would make of her friends after this was the way he had to meet them. He blinked at her. “I guess I have a few more questions.”

She was still trying to find answers for him when Buffy and Angel left with Miss Calendar. The remainder of the group was awkward and depressing without them, but what really bothered Willow later was the way she had seen Giles draw Angel aside and say something to him, and the way Angel’s eyes had narrowed before he nodded in response. What on earth could Giles want to say to him that he wouldn’t say to Buffy?


	2. Surprise: Part 2

Maddox awoke to a jab in the ribs and rolled over with a groan. He couldn’t believe he’d been able to fall asleep at all, on this cheap little cot in this dirty old abandoned boarding house, but they had been working hard for hours and there was little light to keep him up. The sealed windows and openings made sure of that. He just hoped Burns had received word from the Watcher while he had been asleep. With any luck, they were almost done here.

“Get up, you deadweight,” said Burns, poking him again. “It’s your shift.”

With effort Maddox forced his eyes open and tried to rub the sleep out of them. There were a few lamps flickering around the room, and he could just make out Burns standing over him. He swung his legs off the cot. “Is the Slayer coming?”

“Travers says soon. Enough time for me to catch my forty winks, and then they should be here to take over.” He sat down on his own cot.

“Wait,” said Maddox. “We should check on her first.”

Burns looked displeased with that idea, but he consented, and they both walked across the room to where a coffin-sized crate was standing up against the wall. Maddox inspected the hinges and found them secure before he opened the latches and the door swung out, revealing the restrained and unconscious vampire inside.

“I wish they’d picked a different one,” Burns muttered. “I like the big ugly chaps better. Easier to know what you’re dealing with.” He lifted a hand, as if he were about to reach out and touch the vampire, but he knew better than to actually do it. “The way this one looks now, all fast asleep...she looks like she would be a sweet girl. She’s almost beautiful.”

Maddox had avoided saying such things, or even thinking them, but now he allowed his eyes to sweep over the dark tresses and bone-white skin of the prisoner. “She is Drusilla the Mad,” he replied, the words coming out in the hushed tone that suited them, “prized child of the Scourge of Europe, paramour of William the Bloody, thought to be killed in Prague years ago, lately discovered here in Sunnydale. No mere drone for this Slayer’s Cruciamentum.”

Burns scoffed, though it was evident that he was impressed. “Why d’you bother learning all that? All they want from the likes of us is to keep watch and be scarce when the real business happens.”

“I learn it because it interests me,” said Maddox. “And she is beautiful.” He stretched his arms over his head and sat down on the chair they had placed at a reasonable distance from the crate. “Just don’t get it in your head to give her a kiss.”

He didn’t have to be looking at Burns to know that he was on the receiving end of a stink-eye. He didn’t care. A few more hours, and this would be behind him, whether or not the Slayer was a match for Drusilla the Mad.

****************************

The ride to the dock was mostly quiet. Angel was reluctant to speak freely to Buffy when Miss Calendar was present, and Buffy seemed content to just sit in the backseat with him, holding his hand. No doubt they all had plenty to keep their minds occupied, too. Angel certainly did.

He didn’t know much about Rupert Giles as a person, but even before they had met, he had scrutinized the Watcher carefully until he was satisfied that Buffy would be in good hands for her Slayer training. True, this year had seen the darker side of his past, his history as ‘Ripper’, resurface, but it was nothing that made Buffy or Angel question his motives. Buffy trusted him enough to take orders from him—-which was a lot of trust, from her—-and Angel was comfortable with his own role in the arrangement, which was to support Buffy in whatever she decided to do with the orders.

So it didn’t make much sense when Angel had been singled out for Giles’s counsel, delivered in a low voice when nobody else was listening: “It is imperative that you remain at Buffy’s side tonight and see that no harm befalls her. She’s still weakened.”

Angel had simply nodded in response, but he was perplexed that Giles had thought that it needed to be said at all. Of course Angel would be there to protect Buffy tonight. Did he think he had other plans? And while Giles had been known to state the obvious, he usually did it openly.

He was probably just on edge about Buffy’s inexplicable loss of strength, Angel reasoned. They all were, to some extent, Buffy herself most of all. She had been a wreck when she came to see him at his apartment that morning, terrified that her dream meant that he would die as a direct result of her condition, and he had spent so long comforting her, alternately trying to talk and kiss her fears away, that she had been late for school. She had even expressed doubt that he would still want to be with her if she wasn’t the Slayer, which boggled his mind a little.

In the end, though, he thought he could identify where some of her guilt was coming from. She had been thinking about college, and though she claimed that she was already resigned to staying in Sunnydale, part of her was surely still dreaming of going out of state. There were many possibilities open to her as a student, and her mother, unaware of any sacred responsibility to the Hellmouth, had been laying on the encouragement to shoot far. If Buffy lacked the power to protect Sunnydale, there would be no reason for her to stay there, and Angel was certain that she’d feel ashamed if she allowed herself to hope for that.

Angel himself was free to consider it, though, and whether or not Buffy regained her strength, he was prepared to offer to take over Sunnydale for her. He had spent a long time trying to decide if he could handle it—-at the height of his evil reign, he might have had Slayer-calibre power, but that had been squandered by the decades that followed, and animal blood made for a slow recovery. Still, he thought he would be in good enough shape by the end of the year. Then Buffy could have the life she wanted without worrying about the Hellmouth, and they could still see each other in the summer and during school breaks. And who knew? Maybe this would cause another Slayer to be called, and then he could follow Buffy to whatever city she chose.

Of course, now he had a different duty to perform. He winced. It was all too likely that he might return from this trip only to have Buffy leave for college right afterward. Well, that could give her time to decide if she wanted to remain in this relationship in spite of all the time apart.

Prophetic dreams were not the type of spiritual guidance that Angel would have chosen. So Drusilla had killed him? No, just forced him into an errand that took him away from the only place he had truly wanted to be in the last century. Forced him to hurt Buffy. One more night for him to remain at her side, as Giles had put it, and then his presence in her life would be reduced to gifts from Nepal sent with no return address.

He was still going to give her the ring tonight. She had her freedom to leave him if she wanted, but now she just needed to know that he wasn’t abandoning her.

Miss Calendar parked the car a short walking distance from the dock, and wasn’t foolish enough to suggest that she accompany them or that Buffy stay with her. They were effectively alone when they found Angel’s ship, and he set down the box to take advantage of the time they had.

He had a few words ready to explain the significance of a claddagh ring, though he went shy and fumbled it when it came to telling her he loved her—he would have to try that again before he got on the boat tomorrow. She was appreciative of the gift, but still distraught, and soon they were swept up into another negotiation of whether he had to go, and when.

They both knew it was useless, but they still hadn’t reached any actual resolution when they were attacked from above by three very desperate vampires.

It all happened very quickly, but Angel had time to recognize the late Billy Fordham, to curse himself for being so off-guard, and to realize that Buffy didn’t stand a chance in a fight right now and that he couldn’t protect both her and the box. By the time he had thrown off Ford’s first attack, the two others had Buffy held between them, expending as much energy as they thought they needed to take down the much stronger woman that they thought she was. She was struggling against them, but with one wild look in Angel’s direction she told him all he needed to know.

Ignoring both the box and Ford, who was regrouping for another attack, Angel yelled, “Buffy! Hold your breath!” and barreled right into her and her captors, praying that she would follow his instructions without taking the time to think. He picked her up off her feet and kept running, forcing both vampires to let go or be pulled along to the edge of the dock. He half expected them to keep hanging on and be dragged into the water, but he knew he could get away from them either way. With a calculated but awkward leap, Angel and Buffy hit the water as one, Angel’s head and shoulders going in first but both of them dragged down by their weight to a considerable depth.

He kicked out furiously to bring them back to the surface, unable to use his hands for fear that he would lose his grip on Buffy, and within seconds her head bobbed up beside his. She gasped and sputtered, but when she freed her hands to wipe away the hair sticking to her face, he could see she was unhurt. She had held her breath.

“Box,” she coughed, trying to look up at the dock but apparently too disoriented and night-blinded to find it in the darkness.

“No chance of that just now,” Angel replied grimly. “And I think we have other things to worry about.” He hooked his arm around her chest and started to swim them to shore.

Yes, he had plenty of things to worry about. Leaving Buffy, it seemed, was no longer one of them. Rupert Giles, on the other hand, was suddenly at the top of the list.


	3. Surprise: Part 3

Buffy couldn’t prevent herself from shivering as she walked into the library. Her hair was still wet, but it was the near miss at the docks that really gave her the chills. If Angel hadn’t acted so quickly...

“They got the arm,” she said without breaking stride. Willow and Xander were there, still researching with Giles; Oz and Cordelia must have gone home. The three of them all looked up from their books and the unrelated conversation that Willow and Xander seemed to be having.

“Buffy, are you alright?” asked Giles, clearly alarmed. “Where’s Jenny?”

“She took Angel to get some clothes. I had some here. Giles, we _have_ to find out what happened to me! If they get the Judge together, I’m going to have to fight him, and tonight I couldn’t even take on a single garden-variety vampire!” She dropped into the nearest chair and leaned on the table in front of her. The last time she had been this tired, she had just spent hours in combat. Tonight she had only had to do some running and swimming. It just wasn’t right.

“You were attacked at the docks?” Giles inquired at the same time that Xander said, “And we were needing clothes because...”

Buffy’s nerves were frayed enough that her impulse to snap at Xander came before the one to answer Giles: “Because we got _wet_.”

Xander didn’t try to take it up, and Buffy decided to ignore him and refocused on business. “It was Ford and two others. I don’t know how they knew we were there. What did you find on the Judge?”

“Nothing, ah, nothing good. The, ah, texts are...well, we’ll need to...” Giles seemed to get stuck there, and took off his glasses instead of finishing. He was being unusually tongue-tied, and Buffy didn’t understand it. He was her best chance of finding solutions to tonight’s mysteries, and she needed him at full speed.

“Never mind that,” she decided out loud. “First I want to deal with my power break. It could be related, right? And whatever is going on with the Judge, I have to be ready for it. Everyone change your research gears.” She made eye contact with Willow and then Xander and got a nod from both, and then turned back to Giles.

He didn’t nod. “Buffy, I’m afraid our problems here are...not related.”

“What do you mean?” She waited for more information, feeling completely clueless. “Giles? Got a fact or two to follow that?”

She was cut off by two pairs of footsteps coming up behind her; Angel’s soft tread and the click of Miss Calendar’s shoes. “Answer her, Giles,” ordered Angel as his hand landed on Buffy’s shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze. His voice had an edge of menace in it that she had never really heard before. “Tell her what you know.”

Giles took a deep breath, displaying none of the confusion at Angel’s words that Buffy would have expected. He glanced around the room at each one of them, then said, “I need to have a private word with Buffy.”

Willow and Xander hesitated, both looking a little stricken, and then gathered possessions and stood up. “Call if you need me,” Willow murmured as they walked past Buffy on their way out, and Xander added, “We’re here for you, Buffster.”

Miss Calendar hesitated a little longer, but some kind of signal seemed to pass between her and Giles, and she followed the others through the door. Angel didn’t move. Giles gave him a pointed look, and Buffy lost her patience for nonverbal cues and said, “Angel is the reason I’m alive right now. Anything you have to say to me, you can say to him.”

“Very well.” Giles turned away from them and went into his office. When he emerged, he was holding a flat wooden box, which he placed on the table in front of Buffy and opened it so she could see its contents.

The explanation that followed was a nightmare that surpassed anything Buffy had imagined the Judge doing to her. After a few moments of being numb with shock, she was vaguely aware of herself screaming at Giles, throwing things at him, swearing that she would never have anything to do with him again. She knew that there were details to his story that she missed entirely; there was only one important part. She knew that there was more at stake here than the trust between them, but Armageddon made no sense to her when she couldn’t rely on Giles to guide her through it.

When her throat was sore from yelling and her eyes were stinging with tears, she turned to Angel. Without a word, and with no final look at Giles, he wrapped one arm around her shoulder and loaded the other with books, and together they walked out of the library.

“We’ll make it,” he whispered when they reached the sidewalk. “We’re gonna be okay.”

*****

When Giles spent time in the library after school hours, which was often, he never played music or had any kind of machine running. The only sounds were those he made himself: pages turning, the scratch of a pen, the muted tick of his watch. He never noticed the silence.

He noticed it now. Buffy had made her exit long minutes ago, under the supportive arm of Angel, and the library had never seemed so empty. Giles sat stiffly at the table listening to his ticking watch and mentally replaying the scene that had just occurred. Some of it, he had expected, though the magnitude of the pain showing on Buffy’s face was beyond anything the imagination could produce. He had known she couldn’t take this with any kind of tranquility. What he hadn’t know was that Angel would also be present.

The vampire hadn’t spoken a word during the entire ordeal, but his opinions on it were all too clear. Buffy’s distress was kinetic; she moved around the room constantly, embellishing each of her accusations by pacing or thrashing her arms or whipping her body around, and wherever she moved, Angel was right beside her. Giles made a few attempts to approach her, but every time he took a step forward, she took one back, and Angel insinuated himself between them. Once Giles saw the pattern forming, his first reaction was outrage—-how could anyone, least of all Buffy’s boyfriend, imply through such body language that she needed to be protected from her own Watcher?

He was so disgusted by the thought of Angel operating on the idea that he would hurt Buffy that it came as a fresh shock to remember that he had already done it. One thing was suddenly as clear as day. Buffy might someday forgive this betrayal, but Angel never would. The vampire’s undivided loyalty had come out on top, and Giles had made himself the lifelong enemy that he deserved. And the dance around the library went on, as if all three of them were on pulleys: Giles advanced, Buffy backed away, and Angel put a shoulder in front of her. His blank expression only served to reinforce the impression of an unbreakable wall.

The two of them were most likely in each others’ arms even now, sharing whispered words and finding that their mutual attachment was growing ever stronger. Giles winced. Only that morning he had been wondering if it was time to talk to Buffy about her peculiar romance. Now he had no choice but to accept it as it was, for there was surely no chance of severing them anymore, even if he had retained his influence in her life.

He wondered when he would be able to even talk to her again. Quentin Travers would be there the next day expecting discussion about the Cruciamentum, but if Giles knew Buffy at all, her reaction to this added insult would be to ignore it. He wasn’t even sure of how he was supposed to approach the threat of the Judge, since he could hardly call her up and tell her it was time to get back to business when she might not want to share her business with him ever again.

That was another consequence he had anticipated, and another that seemed much larger now that it was real. The Council had assured him that Slayers always felt disillusioned with their Watchers after the test, and that it was only a matter of time before things returned to normal, and Giles had fooled himself into believing that they knew what they were doing and gave half a damn about it. He told himself that the traditions were in place for a reason. He told himself that if he were fired, Buffy would be assigned a new Watcher who might be a disastrous match for her. He told himself that she had assets that no previous Slayer shared, including one completely smitten ensouled vampire who could be hovering conveniently nearby when the test took place, and the Council would never know.

All of that reasoning sounded so flimsy now, a coward’s excuses for taking the path of least resistance. His Slayer’s trust was gone to him now along with his career, and there was nothing he could do to ease her pain, let alone rebuild their partnership.

No. There was one thing. Giles stood up and found his keys, locking up his office for the night before he left the library. He knew where the Council had imprisoned their vampire, and if he had already invalidated the test, there was no reason for them to keep it alive any longer. He would drive a stake into its heart himself, and tell Buffy to her face that the Cruciamentum planned for her was definitively over.

*****

Angel boosted Buffy into the tree outside her bedroom window, feeling relieved when she accepted his aid without making a token attempt to do it by herself first. Learning about the source of her weakness seemed to have dispensed her need to keep trying to deny it, which was one small silver lining in this catastrophic night. He followed her up after she had reached the roof and opened the window, and both of them crept inside as quietly as possible. It was early enough that Buffy’s mother wouldn’t expect her home yet, especially with it being her birthday, and avoiding interaction was easier for her than concocting stories about sudden headaches and wanting sleep.

Buffy moved listlessly around the room until Angel took off his coat and shoes and sat down on her bed to serve as an example, and then she followed readily enough. He didn’t have the opportunity to feel her resting her body against his as often as would have liked, and their situation tonight wasn’t dire enough to stop him from appreciating that opportunity now. He had half-expected another barrage of tears once they were inside, but it seemed she was too exhausted even for that. When her heartbeat began to relax, he opened one of the books he had brought from the library, setting it on his lap and keeping his arm snug around her shoulders.

“Are you getting anything out of that?” she asked a few minutes later, in the low murmur that they customarily used here whenever her mother was home. It was the first time either of them had spoken since the walk home.

“Not really,” he whispered back. “There isn’t much information on the Judge that we haven’t seen already. Most of it is just the same thing in different words. Nobody wrote anything helpful.”

“Then why’d you even take Giles’s books?”

He shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t supporting her head. “Spite.”

That earned him a soft chuckle, but her eyes closed before the conversation had a chance to progress any further. Good. Sleep was probably the only thing that could help her at the moment. He kissed her brow and went on reading by the dim moonlight coming through the window, as the night ticked slowly on.

It couldn’t have been more than two hours when her body gave a wild jolt, completely without warning, and she cried out his name in desperation. Her voice was loud enough that he almost clapped a hand over her mouth to prevent her from doing it again, but his need to calm her overrode his fear of being discovered and he could only embrace her and tell her that he was there.

Thankfully, that was all she needed. She was fully revived before she tried to make any other loud sounds, and there were no ominous footsteps in the hall resulting from the first one. What she said when she looked into his eyes, though, was not reassuring: “I know where Spike is.”

Her description of her dream, along with their pooled familiarity with Sunnydale, was enough to give him a clear mental map of where to find the abandoned factory now turned vampiric base of operations. What to do about it was a much more difficult matter.

Buffy was completely against the idea of him going alone. She listened to all of his arguments in favor of it and was still completely against it. She agreed outright that he was capable and she wasn’t, and was still completely against it. Finally he reached for the only compromise he could think of and told her to put whatever terms on him that she wanted, and gradually they came to an agreement that neither of them liked—-which was appropriate enough, seeing as neither of them had liked anything that led up to it, either.

“So what do you do if they have all the pieces to the Judge?” she drilled him as he got ready to go.

“I run,” he answered dutifully.

“And what do you do if they don’t have all the pieces to the Judge?”

“I run.”

She nodded, her face stern and her voice firm even while maintaining a whisper. “And what do you do if someone sees you and tells you to surrender or he’s going to push this big red ‘Armageddon’ button and simultaneously release the dogs on you?”

“...I run?” He frowned. “Is that still the right answer?”

“Close enough.” She looped her arms around his middle and sighed into his chest. “Just keep the heroic manliness at a low simmer, okay? The last thing I need tonight is...”

There was no need for her to finish that thought, though he realized with a twinge that it would be eating at her for the entire time he was on his mission. “I’ll come right back here. It’ll be quick, I promise—-I just need one good look at what they’re up to, and then we can make a real plan.”

“Okay. I’ll...I’ll be good and wait here, then.”

“You could get some more sleep,” he suggested.

She glared. “Don’t push it.”

They shared a long kiss before he made his exit. If it was a little excessive for a short-term farewell, he didn’t care. Judging from the way she smelled, she didn’t either.


	4. Surprise: Part 4

The sound began quietly. It could have been no more than the creak of a board, if anyone had been moving in the house. Burns pressed his ear to the wall: nothing. Maddox was certainly still asleep. Maybe the sound had been a squeaking rat. Maybe he had imagined it altogether.

No, it was back now, and louder. Soon it resolved into a prolonged whimper, followed by a few ragged breaths—-unmistakably a crying woman. Burns’ eyes moved unwillingly to the box holding the captive vampire. He couldn’t see anything anyway, that side of the room being eaten by shadows, but once he had attached the sound to its source, it was impossible to ignore. All his limited experience with vampires had taught him that they were anything but human, but there was nothing inhuman in the thin wail that Drusilla was making now. In any other situation it would have been heartbreaking. Here it bordered on frightening.

“Quiet, you,” he said. He meant it to sound stern, but his voice cracked like an adolescent and he had to clear his throat to cover it up.

The crying didn’t stop. She was sobbing now, not loudly but persistently, trailing off every few seconds only to begin again with a fresh moan. Burns could hear her Cockney accent, and hitherto he hadn’t know that she was British. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand it.

Then she started talking. A madwoman’s ravings, he told himself, but he couldn’t discern enough of it to confirm that. “Please,” seemed to be repeated a few times, and then a string of words that contained the phrase “he’ll come, you’ll see, you’ll see.” It wasn’t the meaning that bothered him, though, as much as the tone. Vampires were supposed to be full of wrath and greed; she just sounded plaintive. Timid, even. Was she really all the Council said?

“Hush,” he commanded, standing up to make himself feel more confident.

“Can’t hush,” she said clearly. “Never again. The stars say it’s so. Oh, but he’ll come, little one, you mustn’t be afraid...”

Burns’ throat tightened, and he picked up his lantern from the floor and crossed the room. This was just too unnerving without being able to see her face. “Listen, now,” he said as he thrust the light out in front of him. “Pipe down or I’ll send you back to sleep the hard way.”

Her face was suddenly pale and distinct before him, her eyes closed against the brightness of the lantern and the wet trails of tears on her cheeks glistening with it. “Please,” she whispered.

He paused, frozen, unsure of what he had even meant to do. Gag her? It seemed vicious and unnecessary; she was so helpless, chained up like this. “What is it?” he asked stoically. “What do you need?”

She wouldn’t answer, or even keep sobbing, or open her eyes. After a long wait, Burns grew tired of holding up the lantern, and he asked again and got the same lack of response. So, he thought, that was that. But something kept him standing there.

“Vampire?” Nothing. “...Drusilla?” She didn’t move a muscle. If she was human, he would have guessed her dead. And she was, he supposed, dead indeed. Cold-blooded. Internally static. He reached out his hand, ever so cautiously, to touch the tear-stained cheek of the lovely prisoner...

After that it was an impossibly strong hand at his throat, drawing him in with an unchained arm, and then it was stabbing fangs and the dizziness of blood loss and the lantern falling to the floor, and for a few sharp seconds he thought about how he was the greatest fool to ever have had a beautiful woman in his vision.

“I’m going to have a party,” she said. “Perhaps I’ll let you come along.”

When he woke up, he was granted the privilege of releasing her from her remaining bondage, and bringing her Maddox for their first meal together. Burns was very excited. Touching her cheek had been the best decision he ever made.

***********

Getting into the factory was the easy part. Angel had quickly discovered an entrance with no guards, but he couldn’t see at first how it connected to the rest of the building. He could hear voices through the wall—-Spike sounded angry-—so he tried to follow them until he came to a place where he could see without being seen. Before long he found himself on an upper-level walkway, looking down on the lair that Spike and Drusilla had made out the warehouse.

Drusilla was nowhere in sight. Spike was clearly visible, and, Angel was relieved to see, confined to a wheelchair. Buffy’s last battle with them must have done some damage after all.

“Then get back out there and keep looking!” Spike was shouting at one of his henchmen. “I don’t need a bloody check-in every time you manage to accomplish nothing!”

The bespectacled vampire in his line of fire stammered something in response, and Angel let his eyes roam away from them, searching for parts to the Judge or boxes that might hold them. His angle wasn’t helping, and he wondered how far down the walkway he could get without tripping anyone’s alertness. There were six vampires positioned near the doors, and though nobody was currently looking up, it would only take a second.

His best plan might have been to keep to his spot and wait to overhear some clue about their progress with the Judge, but he didn’t know how long that would take and he had promised Buffy that he would be back quickly. He took a few experimental steps forward. So far, so good. The Judge’s pieces had to be stacked against the wall below him, and he could soon attain a vantage point from which he could count them.

“Hey!”

Only after a vampire stepped out from the door at the end of the walkway did Angel realize that not everybody was downstairs. Only after he turned to run and was cut off by another, emerging from the door he had come through himself, did he realize that he was cornered.

The ensuing fight was brief, and Angel didn’t make a kill. Three of them were unconscious by the time they had him restrained, but that was cold comfort when he thought about the promises he had made to Buffy before he left her room. And to make matters worse, now he had to talk to Spike. Well, at least Drusilla wasn’t going to be torturing him this time.

The conversation didn’t begin quite as he would have expected. “Where is she?” Spike barked as soon as the minions had brought Angel over to him.

“I’m alone,” Angel replied easily, taking some grim satisfaction in knowing that it was the truth. Buffy was safe at home, so the worst that could happen now—-well, the worst that could happen was still pretty bad, but Buffy was safe for the moment.

Spike had no such optimism flavoring his perspective. “Don’t play idiot, idiot. Tell me where you have Dru or start losing bits.”

Angel blinked. Dru? The vampires holding his arms tightened their grip in response to his silence, and Spike rolled his eyes. “Get him tied up. If this is going to take all night so be it.”

It was far more comfortable to be restrained with ropes rather than held by henchmen, especially since they allowed him to sit on the floor with his arms secured to the beam behind him. It was obvious that Spike had put him there to keep him from towering over his wheelchair, but the tactic didn’t make Angel any more concerned, or, it seemed, Spike any less agitated.

“So you lost Dru, huh?” Angel asked casually. “I always wondered how long it was going to take for her to get bored with you.”

“Lester, kick him,” Spike replied.

One of the thugs, a large, oafish type, obligingly kicked Angel in the stomach, and he cringed. It was going to be a long night. “Nice foot,” he said to the thug when he had regained his posture. “Completely functional. All kinds of uses for a good pair of those.”

Spike didn’t rise to the bait. “Anything that happens to my girl,” he warned, “happens doubly to yours. I promise you that.”

“Well, good luck.”

“Are you hearing me you bloody ponce I’ll _kill_ her someone kick him again now tell me what you did with Drusilla or I swear by every—“

Angel interrupted at a yell as soon as he had shaken off Lester’s second kick. “Shut the hell up, Spike! This wasn’t us! I don’t have any idea where Drusilla is.”

Spike looked taken aback for the briefest of seconds, and then must have chosen to ignore whatever instinct told him that he knew when Angel was telling the truth. “Oh, that’s rich...”

“Listen to me. You’ve been after us all night. Buffy didn’t even have _time_ to kidnap a...vampire...” If the answer hadn’t come to him while he was speaking, he might have been able to hide it, but he knew that now it was all too plain that he had just realized something. Spike was watching him avidly. It was time to improvise a new strategy. “But I think I can find her.”

“Why’s that?”

It was hard to tell how much Spike’s gang had figured out and told him about Buffy’s weakness, so an explanation of why the Watchers’ Council might be capturing Sunnydale’s insane vampires was too risky. Angel erred on the side of vagueness: “I heard something tonight, gives me a good lead. You want her back?”

Spike leaned forward, his condition still preventing him from looking menacing, but his rage undiminished nonetheless. “Tell me everything you know.”

Angel leveled his gaze and held back a smirk. “You know damn well that’s not how it works.”

Without waiting for a cue, Lester kicked him in the stomach again. Angel restricted his own reaction to a glare, but Spike surprised him by ordering the guards away. The space was too big and open for them to really be alone, but he wheeled himself up closer and lowered his voice to a hiss. “How’s it work, then?”

“You have the Judge?”

Spike raised an eyebrow and then pointed over his shoulder without taking his eyes from Angel. The boxes that Angel had been trying to see from the walkway were indeed the large padlocked kind like the one that Buffy had taken from Ford. He nodded slowly. “And that’s all the pieces?”

“Every one.”

It had been hours since Spike’s henchmen had recovered the arm; they had certainly had time to assemble him if they had chosen. Drusilla’s absence must have been the reason that Spike had forbidden it. She wouldn’t have wanted him to start without her, after all.

Angel delivered his proposal swiftly, in a voice lowered for Spike alone to hear. “I’m going to give you three different addresses and you’re going to divide the pieces up and leave them on the doorsteps. Any of your people encounter any of mine, they walk away. Once that’s done, you put as many guards as you want to on me and we go find Dru. I get her out, she comes back to you, I go my way.”

Spike took a long look at him before answering. “And if she decides to kill you first?”

“Well,” Angel chuckled, “that would be between me and her, wouldn’t it?”

It might not have been the best move, he realized a moment later, to say something so guaranteed to reignite the jealousy that Spike would doubtless always feel over Drusilla’s preference for her sire. Still, he hadn’t lost his knack for manipulating his former family, and he knew without needing to be told that Spike was seriously considering his offer.

When he turned and wheeled away without another word, Angel checked to see that nobody was watching, and then indulged in a small smile. As furious as he still was at Giles for his lies, he had to admit that the man’s confession earlier that night might have saved them all. He had to assume that Giles hadn’t known that the vampire was Drusilla, or he would have said so, but he had mentioned enough of a location for Angel to find it and make the trade.

If this worked, Angel thought, he was not only going to neutralize the threat of the Judge, but would be provided with an excellent excuse not to force himself to kill Drusilla. He might not even have to get on a ship.


	5. Surprise: Part 5

Buffy had sworn to herself that she wouldn’t watch the clock. She was just going to check it every once in a while to see if Angel was late, and in the meantime, she was going to study the books, since she happened to have them all here. Thirty seconds had gone by when she first looked up to check the time after opening the first book. She bit her lip and commanded herself to concentrate. She held out for forty-three more seconds.

The pattern held, but there was little she could do about it except worry, so worry she did. The book stayed on her lap the whole time, and once or twice she even thought she managed to comprehend an entire sentence. It wasn’t helping.

Eventually she was no longer able to tell herself that she was being paranoid. Too much time had passed; there was no rationalizing it away. Angel should have been back by now.

It wasn’t difficult to make her choice after that, though she forced herself to ponder it long enough to go in with a working plan. Her preparations had to be precise. She opened her chest and chose the weapons most effective for a human of average strength, then zipped them into a duffel bag which could be easily discarded if she had to move quickly.

Angel was all she had. Angel was coming back from the factory, or neither of them were.

~~~

The front door of the boarding house was still open, which meant that Maddox and Burns were still in there, waiting for Giles to deliver Buffy and give them the nod to release the vampire. It was better for everyone, he thought, that he was here to tell them in person that it wasn’t going to happen that way. It probably wouldn’t save his job, but he didn’t want to seem as if he were trying to conceal what he had done. In fact, he wanted a good long chat with Travers about it, no holds barred.

But for now he just wanted to dismiss the Council’s toughs and eliminate the vampire. He stood still at the entrance just inside the door, listening. He wasn’t sure which room they were in, and they probably weren’t using much light at this hour. It was silent inside, though, so he tentatively stepped further in and began to look around, stake held tightly in his left hand.

This house had been chosen not only for its convenient location and the easy matter of purchasing it, but for its size and overcomplicated design. In the dark it was a maze, full of bulky furniture and rotten places in the floorboards, all meant to challenge the Slayer further as she tried to navigate it while fighting for her life. Travers had answered his objections on this point with, “A smart Slayer will be able to use the terrain as an asset. It gives her a chance to confuse her foe.”

Giles suppressed a surge of fury as he remembered that conversation. Why had nobody ever implemented the tradition of locking the head of the Watchers’ Council in with a mad vampire?

He set his free right hand down on the banister as he headed toward the kitchen, and found it unexpectedly sticky. For a moment he felt only disgust at the unmitigated mess of the derelict house, and then he saw the dark liquid on his hand and his restrained unease roared into full-blown fear. There was a trail of blood leading into the kitchen, and against his better judgment, he followed.

Maddox was on the table, not only dead and drained but ripped apart, no part of him left whole. His blood was streaked around the entire room, a foul spectacle that could only be the work of...a mad vampire.

“Terrible, isn’t it,” came a melancholy voice behind him. “Just ghastly.”

Giles whirled around, his stake upraised in the reaction to being surprised that had become automatic for him, and faced Burns, who was leaning in the doorway with his arms folded against his chest. “What is this?” he asked, his voice no more than a gasp.

Burns shrugged, the gesture immediate confirmation for Giles that it was not truly Burns. “Nature takes its course?” He glanced at the body on the table and then back at Giles. “You were supposed to bring us a girl,” he complained.

There was less than a second of time after that before Burns straightened up to come closer, and Giles knew that it was the only opening he was going to get. He moved first, swung the stake with all his strength, and hit the heart squarely. Burns looked down at the wood protruding from his chest, looked up angrily at Giles with a word forming on his lips, and then burst into a cloud of ashes.

Giles didn’t pause to register the shock of the two deaths that had now taken place in this room. He ran for the door, stumbling in the darkness, hating Travers all over again for the comment about using the terrain as an asset. There was only one unlocked door, only one way out. Which way was it? Had he gotten himself turned around?

He found himself back at the stairwell. Disregarding the blood still smearing the banister, he clutched at it for balance as he tried to get his bearings. After a few heavy breaths he remembered that he only had to follow the corridor to the exit, and some of his composure returned as he lifted his head and looked that way.

There was a woman standing in the corridor, black hair trailing past her shoulders, hands clasped innocently together. Drusilla. The Council had captured Drusilla the Mad. Not only had Giles betrayed Buffy, but he had been an accessory to unleashing the most dangerous vampire in Sunnydale, when she could have been destroyed.

How fitting that he was about to die by her hand.

He closed his eyes, letting himself succumb to the hopelessness that had come down on him so suddenly. All he could do now was meet his fate with courage and forgiveness would follow it.

As he opened his eyes and poised himself for a fight, the vampire raised her hand, two fingers crooked at him. “Be in me,” she purred. Then, after hardly a pause, she tilted her head to the side and said, “Rupert?”

The voice she used to say his first name was as unexpected as it was familiar. The stake fell from his hand. It wasn’t Drusilla standing before him at all; it was Jenny, dear, lovely Jenny. How could he ever have mistaken her?

Swiftly he closed the distance between them and took her in his arms, needing her solid form to anchor him before he could do anything else. She responded in kind, embracing him firmly before stepping back to look up at him. “Rupert, what’s going on?”

“We have to get out of here,” he said in a rush. “There’s a vampire—-killed Burns and Maddox—-I think it’s still inside—-“

She placed a fingertip on his lips. “Shhh. I took care of that. We’re safe here, everything’s okay. Just tell me what you were doing.”

All of his own incredulity and confusion at the absurd turn that the night had taken was pushed down as he seized the opportunity to unload his guilt on Jenny. “Buffy’s weakness was, was my fault. The Council ordered me to drug her, ah, to bring her here. It was a test. She could have died. I came h-h-here to end it, but the vampire...”

“A test?” Jenny sounded calm, and oddly curious, despite his frantic jumble of words.

“It’s a tradition that takes place on the Slayer’s eighteenth birthday. I never should have cooperated. She’ll never accept me again, Jenny, not after this.”

She took both of his hands in both of hers, a comforting gesture. “You never know. Give her some time. But what happens now?”

“They’ll send her a new Watcher. And—-oh dear. The Judge. Spike may already have all the pieces to it.”

“And Buffy won’t be able to fight them.”

The full impact of this side to the catastrophe finally hit him. “I need to, to, to find Drusilla. Angel said she was the one who would want to activate the Judge. If I can stop her before she returns to the factory...”

Jenny laid her hand on his face, sadness in her eyes beneath her full black lashes. “Oh, Rupert, but that’s just it.” She brought his lips to hers and kissed him passionately, and then pulled back again and said simply, “You can’t.”

He had no time to see her fist approaching his face, let alone witness her reversion to the vampire he had meant to find here. He was out cold when Drusilla left the boarding house.

~~~

Five minutes went by without anyone talking to Angel. He didn’t know where Spike had gone, and was hardly in a position to look for him. He tried not to think about time slipping by—-as long as the Judge wasn’t put together, he still had hours of darkness left to run his errand and get back to Buffy. This was no time to show any impatience in front of the enemy.

He was concentrating on building a plan for Drusilla’s retrieval when he heard a chair being set down next to him, just out of reach of his legs if he had wanted to kick at it. A young vampire sat down without a noise, elbows on his knees, and looked down at Angel with a small smile playing about his face.

“I’m gonna be guarding you for now,” said Ford. “Not like you could do anything.”

Angel looked him over. The last time they had met was during the battle at the dock, and before that, he had been human. It was always disturbing to meet a new demon in a body that had once held only a soul, especially because the difference was so hard to pinpoint or even identify. Ford’s appearance and mannerisms hadn’t changed at all, and Angel was well aware that it was only his supernatural sense for his own kind that distinguished this boy from the one who had claimed Buffy’s friendship. Even vampirism couldn’t make Ford any more sinister, in Angel’s eyes, than he already had been.

“So,” he said at last. “Is immortality everything you dreamed it would be? Running away from Slayers? Stealing a box?”

Ford shrugged, still in his casual pose. “Eh, Spike told me how it is. Everyone starts out as a minion.”

It was close enough to the opening that Angel had hoped for. “I didn’t,” he replied.

“Yeah? Look where that got you, o fearsome one.” Ford sounded genuinely curious as he continued, “What’s your deal? This is really all about Buffy for you? I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s a babe, but I’ll still take the minion role over being tied to a post.”

Angel leaned his head back against the post in question. “They didn’t really tell you anything about me, did they?”

“They said you had a soul.” Ford delivered the word with the same unexamined contempt for it that Darla had once expressed. “And Spike went on for a while about hair gel. Sorry, pal, so far you’re worth a couple yawns.”

“Spike’s afraid,” Angel stated in a low voice. He had the disadvantage of not knowing whether or not Spike was nearby and listening, but it was mostly Ford he wanted to hear this, anyway. “Look at him. He’s crippled. Any one of you could take him out. Without Dru behind him, he’s got nothing, and the more you learn about him, the more of a danger you are.”

“Oh yeah?” Ford answered in the same conspiratorial tone. “Well, here’s something you ought to know about _me_.” He switched back to a normal voice. “I watch TV. I know an escape gambit when I see one.”

Angel didn’t press the point. It would be helpful if he could manage to turn Spike’s minions against him, yes, but it wasn’t going to happen in a single night, so all he was aiming for at the moment was to plant the seed. Ford might not be ready to take matters into his own hands yet, and he couldn’t be counted as an ally even if he was. Still, Angel was certain he was right about one thing: Ford, and any other fledglings in the factory, weren’t being kept informed. They never were.

“I don’t need an escape,” he said. “I’m headed out of here to get your real leader as soon as Spike stops spinning his wheels and gets down to it.” He raised an eyebrow at Ford. “What do you think is taking him so long?”

“Maybe he’s trying to decide how bad he wants her back,” Ford smirked. “Heh. ‘Real leader’...”

The extent of the young vampire’s ignorance was an eye-opener. Members of the same nest turned on each other all the time, but Spike and Drusilla were a team; there was no competition between _them._ His feelings for her were enough on their own to make him do whatever it took to get her back, but his current condition was just extra incentive. Vampires had no respect for weakness. If Drusilla’s support for him was no longer in evidence, it wouldn’t take the minions long to see their opportunity, and Spike would be in serious danger.

“I hope I get picked to guard you on the way there,” said Ford. “I want to see if she decides the best way to thank you is with killing.”

Angel chuckled. “Tell me one thing. Which one of them made you?”

“Why’s it matter?”

“For you, it doesn’t. I just want to know how closely related we are.”

The surprise on Ford’s face was enough for Angel to count it as a small victory. He could almost see the wheels turning as Ford tried to work out the line of descent in his head. It was one of those subtle parts of vampire culture that the fledglings never really understood, though they always assumed it was important in one way or another.

Any further response from Ford was cut short as Spike wheeled himself back over with his thugs in tow. “Well, Peaches, we have a deal. Dru for the box of tricks.”

“All the boxes,” Angel reminded him as one of the vampires bent down to untie him from the beam.

“Right, right,” said Spike with a tight smile. “But for that I’ll need one small alteration to your cunning plan. Drusilla gets home safe first, and _then_ the boxes leave here. You’ll want to sure it gets done, naturally, so you’re welcome to escort her back here.”

_“What?”_ Angel got to his feet as soon as the ropes were loose enough to allow it, shoving the minion away from him and finishing the job himself. “If I come back you’ll just kill me. No deal.”

Spike looked childishly pleased with himself. “Oh, I wouldn’t _dream_ of that. Scout’s honor.” He pretended to consider. “But if you truly don’t trust me, just send Dru on her way and let us take care of our dismembered friend without you.”

Angel shook his head in frustration. If he left Spike and Drusilla alone in the factory with the Judge, Armageddon would soon be on the menu. If he killed Drusilla—-he winced at the thought—-Spike would go through with the Judge’s assembly on his own, for the sake of revenge. Saving himself at that expense just didn’t agree with Angel, even if this new plan wasn’t giving him any reliable way to stop the Judge through either option.

“Give me one of the boxes,” he said finally. “I’ll take it along with me. Dru gets sent home, I keep the box. Later on we can negotiate for the rest of them.”

It was Spike’s impatience, he thought, that finally made him agree. Angel selected the box holding the arm which he had so recently carried to the docks, and Spike ordered a few minions to accompany him (including Ford, to his annoyance). They were about to leave the building when the doors were flung open by the two vampires who had been guarding them from outside, and a solitary person stepped up between them.

Angel squeezed his eyes shut and whispered a prayer. Standing in the doorway, crossbow in her hands, was Buffy.

“Well,” chuckled Spike, “this changes everything, doesn’t it?”


	6. Surprise: Part 6

The circumstances of Buffy's arrival in the factory were informative: the guards had let her in without attacking her, so she must have requested negotiation, and they hadn't taken her crossbow away, so the illusion of her full strength was still intact. Unless she had an especially complex plan, though, Angel couldn't see any possible outcome here that didn't involve her giving herself up for him, and he wasn't about to allow that. There was no chance to communicate. He was going to have to trust her to follow his lead, and hopefully make good use of that bluff. It had worked at the docks, after all.

He processed all of this in the space of a second, while at the same time noting another crucial part of the puzzle: he was holding a very large and heavy object, with no shortage of potential targets for it. The vampires on either side of Buffy noticed it too, but striking down either one of them would have been a disastrous first move when the other one could so easily react by attacking Buffy. They were vastly outnumbered, and every eye in the room was on them. Spike was behind him, an easy shot that would leave the other vampires without direction, but...

Angel spun around and hurled the box as hard as he could—-at one of the television screens hanging from the ceiling, part of Spike's monitoring system. The screen ripped free of its chains and took down the vampire standing directly beneath it, but more importantly, its weight broke through the floor and created an escape route, if he and Buffy could just get to it. One of the other vampires narrowly missed falling into it, and pulled himself away only to find himself grappling with a disembodied arm. The box had broken when it hit the floor, and the Judge was making himself known in the only way he could.

By the time Angel turned from his initial act of destruction, every vampire with two working legs in the factory was headed for him. Idiots. Spike, doubtless, knew that the key to winning this battle was in threatening Buffy, but he had clearly failed to pass that information on to his minions, and now they had missed their chance to use her as leverage. Angel was only too happy to focus on the fight, but he knew he still couldn't let Buffy out of his sight altogether. Ford, for one, might have the presence of mind to gamble on Buffy's disadvantage and try to force a surrender from Angel.

It took one good kick to get his first attacker out of the way and take a look. Buffy had dropped her crossbow and was dashing toward Spike with a stake in one hand and a cross in the other. Spike seemed to be raising his arms in defense while yelling for backup. Ford was nowhere in sight.

The swarm around Angel would have been intimidating if it had lasted, but they were soon distracted by Spike's call, and several broke off to intercept Buffy-—Angel himself included. It looked quite possible that she could kill Spike with this maneuver, but then what?

Just when he was sure that she was going to die in a wheelchair covered in ashes, she halted, just out of Spike's reach, and threw her cross into his lap before veering to the side. She was still too close to him for comfort, but he was occupied with the holy item burning him, and unable to stop her before she set her hands to his chair and shoved, tipping it over and spilling him on the floor. Angel nearly laughed with delight. That was his girl, always opting for the unexpected.

She also had enough sense to run, and run hard. She had seen the hole open up in the floor and knew what she was supposed to do with it, and she didn't stop to look for Angel until she was standing at its lip. "GO!" he shouted over the heads of the last two vampires in his way. The others were either tripping over Spike or trying to help him. None were after Buffy.

The escape wasn't exactly easy after that point, but as far as Angel could tell, it was clean. The hole led into the sewer, and though they were pursued, they were pursued too slowly at first and then down the wrong tunnel. They emerged to a rainstorm, with enough strength left to rush through it to the safety of Angel's apartment.

~~~

As if it wasn't enough that the Slayer and her broody lapdog had gotten away. As if it wasn't enough that his mad princess was still missing, and with his only clue to her whereabouts gone away with the escapees. No, it wasn't enough until he was defeated again by that abominable girl, and this time in plain sight of every one of his idiotic grunts. He roared at them to back off as they tried to help him back into his chair-—one would think they at least had sense enough to set the chair right before attempting to pull him into it-—but it was a lost cause. They had witnessed his humiliation, and his helplessness. Each one had become a threat in and of itself.

Once he was off the floor he bought some time by sending half the minions to look for Angel and the Slayer and half of them to renew the search for Drusilla, save for a few of the stupidest ones, who he set to guard the doors. Mutiny wasn't going to come from those who routinely failed at their own hunting expeditions.

That left him time to think, which he hated. He could see that he would now have to assemble the Judge. It was still an unknown quantity, but he had nothing else going for him, and Armageddon was sounding better and better. He glared at the box that held the now-notorious right arm. Watching the severed limb attack the vampires who tried to put it away had given him some satisfaction, but the broken box couldn't properly contain it, and now the whole thing was twitching in a monotonous way that only added to his annoyance with the whole business.

When Drusilla made her entrance, idly fussing with her skirt and gazing up at the ceiling, it was like his unlife was being suddenly and mercifully reforged. "Ducks?" he said, scarcely able to believe his eyes. "Poodle? You've had me out of my mind all night, you naughty girl. Where have you _been?_ "

She sauntered over to him and stooped to kiss the end of his nose. "There were some nasty men. And then there were none."

"Which nasty men, love? Who kidnapped you?"

"Is it time for my party, Spike? I've been waiting, all atwitter, ever so long."

Despite his vast relief at having her back, whole and unharmed, Spike had to grind his teeth a little. Straightforward communication had never been their strong point. "We'll have your party in a blink, but we need to get to the bottom of this. Are you certain you killed them all?"

She twirled behind him like a breeze, caressing his face as she moved. "Left one for you. Still warm. His lips tasted like...home." She was back in front of him, having made a full circle around his wheelchair. "Poor lovesick dear, and he told me such sad things of his Slayer. Such fascinating stories. Shall I have him fetched here?"

"His Slayer?" Spike caught both of her wrists in his hands. "Dru, d'you mean to say you've got the Watcher? And he's _alive?_ "

Drusilla smiled his favorite wicked smile. "I knew you'd be hungry. If you have a nice Watcher to eat, then is it time for my party?"

"Why, we'll start the party this very second, love, exactly as you wish it, if you promise to share these fascinating stories with me. And I'm feeling so generous that we'll save that warm body for your guest of honor. He'll be hungry too, don't you think?"

Clearly she approved of this plan, and clapped her hands together with delight to express it. "I must send the help to fetch him, or he'll be all alone when he awakens." She lifted up her skirts and dashed back to the door much more quickly than she had come in, and Spike watched her go with a peaceful smile on his face.

"Wait," he said suddenly, too late to stop her. "What d'you mean, 'his lips'?"

~~~

Giles was not alone when he woke. His consciousness returned first in the form of nausea and a throbbing head, then fragmented memories of fear, and finally he wrenched his eyes open so his swimming vision could behold the faces of the last people in the world who he wanted to see.

"There, he's reviving," said Quentin Travers jovially. "On your feet, good man. You've the devil's own luck, going into that house alone and living to tell the tale."

Giles took Quentin's proffered hand and let the man help him up, ignoring the wave of dizziness that came with standing upright. He was in his own living room, and Quentin and two other Watchers that he barely recognized were standing expectantly around him. Irritably he wondered when he had given any of them the key or the permission to come in here uninvited. Then his memories began to amalgamate, and he gasped out the first pertinent word that occurred to him: "Drusilla."

"Yes, her escape was a surprise to all of us. Quite an unfortunate chain of events. I expect she was the one who did this to you?"

"Yes. She, she was—-where is Buffy?"

Travers raised a disapproving eyebrow. "Well, I'm sure I don't know. Is there any reason she wouldn't be at her own home, given that she wasn't at the site of her Cruciamentum, as she was meant to be?"

"Your vampire escaped and killed two of your men. I'm not prepared to claim exclusive rights to the errors that have been made here." Giles rubbed at his pounding head. There was more that he needed to know, but it was so difficult to concentrate on remembering what it was. "We need to find out if Drusilla made it back to her lair. She may be assembling the Judge as we speak."

"The _Judge?_ " Quentin sounded alarmed for the first time since Giles had woken. "Your reports said nothing of this."

"Until tonight there was nothing of it to report."

There was a silence, in which Quentin seemed to stop noticing the presence of Giles and the other two as he stood thinking with his chin in his hand. "If the Slayer is incapacitated," he said at last, "we can't send her into this situation blind. We'll need to stand down for a few days."

"No. Listen to me. I was—-she had me hypnotized. I told her things. God. I told her everything." It all came back to him as he spoke, all the more horrible because he couldn't erase Jenny's face from his mind and replace it with the truth. "They know what I did to Buffy."

Quentin let out a long breath. "You couldn't help that, I suppose. But it doesn't change the facts. Tonight we don't have the means to attack." The two others made matching sounds of agreement, clearly not keen on the idea of attacking.

Giles grabbed the nearest piece of furniture to steady himself, trying to regain enough focus to turn his raw anger into a constructive dialogue. "You utter fools," he said. Well, perhaps the constructive dialogue was a lost cause. "This cannot wait. You've come across the ocean for the sake of a meaningless ritual and instead found an actual emergency. If you disable your own greatest asset, you'd better have an alternative prepared—-and if you don't it falls to you to take action in her place. Your own hands. Your own risk." He managed to stand up straight enough to level his eyes with Travers'. "I can't find them on my own. Help me, Quentin."

"As admirable as your resolve may be, Rupert, I'll remind you that you have no authority in this matter. And you shouldn't need me to tell you that you can't even stand up straight." He motioned to the younger of the other Watchers. "Willoughby, please stay here with Mr. Giles tonight and prevent him from attempting anything he'll regret later. We'll be back once this situation is under control."

Giles tried to protest, but it was lost in another crash of pain in his head. Travers was right about one thing; he couldn't act on his own. Even Willoughby wouldn't have any trouble restraining him in this state.

Quentin gave him a final, pitying look. "Get some rest. Tomorrow we'll discuss the consequences of your actions."

~~~

The rain had soaked right through her clothes and she was worn out from the run. The reality of what had just happened, and what it meant for tomorrow, seemed far too distant to grasp, except in one respect: she had failed.

Buffy waited until Angel had closed the door of his apartment behind them, and then turned to face him so she could speak first. "I know. I know what you're going to say and I'm sorry, okay? You were gone so long and there wasn't anyone I could call. And now they're going to build the Judge and I blew your chance at stopping them and I'm sorry..."

She could have gone on, but Angel interjected by saying her name in a voice he had never used for it before, not angry or confused or afraid, but just astonished: _"Buffy!"_

Uncertain of how to take that, she dragged her wet hand through her wet hair and waited as he stared back at her. Finally he closed the gap between them and raised his fingers to her cheek with a feather light touch. "You came," he said, still sounding nearly dazed. "You came for me."

"I...of course I came, Angel, I..." Her shivers caught up with her and she abandoned the attempt at speaking, reaching instead for a handful of his soggy shirt and pulling herself closer to his reassuring solidity.

His embrace was no warmer than the rainstorm outside, but his hands were strong and sure, and his lips whispered tenderly at her ear. "You're shaking like a leaf."


	7. Innocence: Part 1

Willow got to school early and made sure that Xander did too, which wasn't as difficult as it usually was. Neither of them had heard anything yet about what had happened between Buffy and Giles the night before, and Xander was just as anxious as she was to find out what was wrong.

Aside from the obvious, of course. Researching the Judge at home had been completely useless. Willow had never been so eager to get back to the library. She was already considering skipping one or more of her classes, but that would depend on what kind of news Giles and the others had for them.

She was at a complete loss when they entered and he wasn't there. That in itself wouldn't have been a cause for concern, as Giles was never guaranteed to be immediately visible even if he hadn't temporarily stepped out, but the real sign that something was wrong was that someone else was there: a man in an old-fashioned suit, younger than Giles but too old to be in high school. He was standing behind the counter, exactly where he didn't belong, and he looked up from the book in his hands with a friendly smile and nod just as if there was nothing unusual about the presence of a stranger here.

Willow exchanged a worried glance with Xander, both of them unsure of what to say, but he recovered faster and started walking toward Giles's office, and she followed, hoping that the answers would be in there along with the man himself.

The substitute librarian cleared his throat loudly. "May I assist you with something?" he inquired in a British accent.

"We're just here to see Giles," said Willow, pointing at the office door.

"I'm afraid Mr. Giles isn't able to come in today. I'll be taking care of his duties for the present."

Willow's heart began hammering in her chest. "Where is he? What's wrong?" she asked, her questions overlapping similar ones from Xander.

The man raised an eyebrow, probably aware that their anxiety didn't match the normal reaction of a pair of students looking for a librarian. "He isn't feeling well. I'm sure he'll be better in a day or two."

"But what _happened?_ " Xander persisted. "The guy wouldn't catch malaria without putting it in his schedule first. He's not just down with a sniffly nose."

"As far as I know, a 'sniffly nose' is exactly what he's caught," said the stranger, irritation beginning to show on his docile features. "You can pay him a visit tomorrow, but—"

He broke off as the door to Giles's study opened, and all three of them snapped to attention at the sound of it. Willow, still half-expecting to see Giles step out, was dismayed when the occupant revealed himself to be another unfamiliar face. He was significantly older than the first one, but had the same style of clothing, and when he spoke, it was with the same accent. "There's no cause to be alarmed. I met with Mr. Giles this morning, and I assure you he'll recover in no time at all. Would you like me to pass on a message?"

"We just need to talk to him," Willow pleaded. "It's an important...school thing. And he never just doesn't show like this!"

Before his reply was even out of his mouth, she could tell that it was going to be a rewording of what he had just said, and that the conversation was doomed to spiral if they kept at it. She and Xander both tried to interrupt at the same time, but to Willow's surprise, his interruption was the one that found a new direction and silenced everyone else at once.

"Hey, you're Watchers' Council guys, aren't you?"

Once it had been said, Willow didn't need them to confirm it to know it was true. She inhaled sharply, seeing them in an entirely new light, and turned to the one who had been in Giles's office. "Are you here to help Buffy with the Judge?"

"Man, I hope so," said Xander. "To the nth power. All the research can be turned over to the experts and we'll take up the moral support duties, right Will?"

Both men were openly shocked. The older one also looked more than a little irritated. He cleared his throat. "If you would please inform me of how it is you know about both the Watchers' Council and the Judge. And Buffy."

Willow glared right back at him. "We know about Buffy because she's our friend and we know about the other stuff because Buffy's our friend. So, since we're on the same page now and everything"—-Xander said it along with her—-"where's Giles?"

The man behind the counter cast a long glance at the other. "He never mentioned that he was releasing these secrets to the local children, did he?"

"As insulting and sort of true as that is," Xander cut in, "I'm gonna opt for pointing out that it's not the issue here. Can I see a little focus?"

Just as the Watchers were looking prepared to leap down his throat in earnest, the library doors swung open and all talk ceased immediately. Willow let out a long sigh of relief. It was Buffy.

"Oh, you're alright," she said as she and Xander left the counter to meet their friend halfway. "We were so worried. Last night, with you and Giles and the big awkward silence...what happened?"

Buffy's only response was a wan smile; she was distracted by the strangers in the room, which Willow couldn't really blame her for. Even if she hadn't seen the argument happening, she would certainly be quick to realize that they were there for her, and probably not in a way she would welcome.

The older Watcher approached her and offered his hand. Buffy, predictably, didn't shake it, but he ignored her unfriendly stare and spoke as if she had. "Buffy Summers. My name is Quentin Travers, I represent the Watchers' Council."

"Uh huh. Came to see if I'm still alive?" She indicated herself with a gesture. "Voila. You want more evidence, or are you just gonna pack up your Slayer drug mini-kit and go?"

"I understand you're upset," said Travers. "There are a few more things we'll need to discuss, however. Would you step into the office with me for a moment?"

"The office?" Buffy looked around, as if a new office might have spontaneously sprung into existence to accommodate the Watchers. "Where's Giles?"

"Please, Miss Summers. I'll explain everything once we have a bit more privacy."

Buffy raised her eyebrow at Willow and Xander. Willow shrugged, knowing that arguing in favor of their inclusion wasn't going to hurry the process, and Xander crossed his arms and shook his head. Buffy turned back to Travers. "You can talk in front of them. They know what I am."

"Yes," he replied gravely. "That's another topic we'll discuss. Your secret identity is a serious matter, Miss Summers, and—"

"I trust them. The secret is still secrety, and I don't have time for this, so if you're gonna talk, talk."

Willow limited her show of support to a firm nod, but Xander couldn't help adding, "It's not like the whole school knows or anything. Just us."

His timing could have been better. At that moment the door swung open again and Cordelia marched in, sized up the situation, and said, "Are you Buffy's vampire-slaying guidance counselors or something? Because somebody really needs to get on this 'the Judge' thing. I can't keep checking in here just to see if we're all going to die tonight." She frowned and took a broad look around the library. "Where's Giles?"

Travers looked pointedly at Xander, who smiled sheepishly and held up one finger. "And her."

Nobody even had the heart to pretend to be surprised when Miss Calendar walked in and said, "Buffy, are you alright? Rupert called me last night but he didn't even explain what was going on with you and Angel. He made it sound like he was under some kind of house arrest. Have you heard from him?"

Buffy shook her head in reply, her eyes downcast. As much as Willow wanted to hear the full story on what had happened last night, she was currently more concerned about her friend's mood. Buffy had her off days from time to time, but usually they came from being overworked or faced with a problem that she couldn't solve with action. There had to be something unusual bothering her today, something that could account for her numb expression and apparent apathy regarding Giles and his whereabouts.

"The lady friend, I take it," said Travers flatly. "Willoughby told me I could expect to meet you today."

Miss Calendar gave him a dark look, and then asked "Who are you?" in a tone that could not be interpreted as respectful.

"Ooh," said Xander. "It's teacher-wrath. Here I thought I only get to see this when it comes with landing myself in detention."

"They're the Watchers' Council," said Willow to Miss Calendar. "And they won't tell us why they're not letting Giles come and be the librarian."

"I see. Willow, would you like to take over my computer class today? It's the same program we were working on last week, you should have no problem."

Willow perked right up. "You're going to go see him?"

"Enough!" Travers growled. "Before you all go taking these matters into your own hands, there is a crucial situation which needs to be addressed, and—"

Buffy cut in, her voice no louder than his but sudden enough to stop him so she could be heard. "The Judge. You're right. That's where the crucial is. Everyone shut up so I can fill you in." They did, Willow feeling her cheeks get warmer as she realized how quick she had been to turn her focus to outwitting Travers instead of helping Buffy. "Angel and I found Drusilla's lair last night. She's there, Spike's crippled but he's there, and everything they need to build their new toy is there. Actually, they've probably got it together by now, so you'd better start ferreting for weak spots. Oh, and speaking of which, it might help to do some math and give me an estimate on who's most likely to be up to full strength first, because honestly, I don't think it's me." She let that statement hang for a moment between herself and Travers, and then turned back to the doors. "I gotta get to class."

"Buffy, wait," he implored, causing everyone there, even the other Watcher, to throw him a look of pure incredulity. Willow didn't think his apologetic voice, and the sudden use of her first name, would be enough to make Buffy pause, but she did, letting him finish as she stood with her hand on the door. "I've already contacted Sam Zabuto. Kendra should be here by this evening."

Buffy's eyes widened momentarily, and then she nodded once and was gone.

"Ooookay," said Cordelia. "Well, you all enjoy your demon soap opera, then. Xander, can you help me find my Bottega Veneta bag? I think I left it in a place where nobody else is right now."

Willow wouldn't have expected Cordelia to make a specific request for Xander's company no matter what the reason, but Xander's response struck her as even more odd: instead of issuing a quick and heartfelt insult, his mouth tightened into a hard line, and then he said, "Not now."

Miss Calendar and the Watchers seemed about to get into a verbal sparring match of their own. Willow looked around at everyone, torn, and then rushed after Buffy. As the door swung closed behind her, she heard an uptight British voice asking, "And would anyone like to tell me who this 'Angel' is?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was always a pleasure to see Dru so excited, of course, but Spike himself was not immediately taken with the entertainment she had chosen. As soon as the lout was put together he began nattering about affection and jealousy, and Spike was sure he was looking for an excuse to fry them both. Fortunately, Spike was also sure—- _almost_ sure—-that the act of bringing him back into the world put them in good enough standing to avoid that fate, so he ignored the complaints with good humor and offered the Judge his pick of minions.

When Dalton, the spineless idiot that Spike had been using for translations, was chosen, Spike's liking for the Judge went up a few notches. There was an amusing stream of desperate cries as Dalton was pushed forward, but just as the demonstration was about to be completed, the rear entrance doors opened and all motion ceased immediately. Spike, who had promised Drusilla there would be no interruptions, let out a long sigh of frustration which died in the middle when he looked at the new arrival. It was Angel.

"Well," said Spike to Dalton. "I think you may be off tonight's menu."

With most of their muscle present for Dru's party, it was the work of a moment to get Angel within reach of the Judge, but within that moment Spike experienced a barrage of doubts. Whatever that soul of his had done to him, Angel wasn't fool enough to step into the lair without backup. He wasn't out of practice enough to be caught so easily. And standing there as he was with the Judge's hand on him, about to be burned or fizzled or (Spike crossed his fingers) exploded from within...was he _smiling?_

"Gee, maybe he's broken."

The Judge, seeing that nothing was going to happen, lowered his hand. "There is no humanity in this one. Bring me another."

Dru had never looked as overjoyed as she was now. After some brief explanation, they fed Dalton to the Judge after all, and then the real party began.


	8. Innocence: Part 2

There was a knock on the door that afternoon, and Giles thought it might be the best sound he had heard in two days. As humiliating as it was to allow Willoughby to answer his door, squabbling about it would be worse, so he kept to his chair and waited to hear who the visitor was.

"Jenny Calendar?" said Willoughby with overdone courtesy. "Please pardon me, but I'm obliged to ask if this visit includes any intention on your part to interfere with the business of the Slayer."

"This visit includes the intention of soup," Jenny replied crossly as Giles rose to meet her. She stepped past Willoughby, brandishing a white paper bag at him as evidence that she spoke the truth, and then ignored him entirely.

Giles automatically moved to relieve her of the bag, which smelled of chicken and radiated warmth, but she held it away from him as she laid one hand on his shoulder and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Chicken soup is for sick people," she said, "and you're not. Are you?"

"I'm afraid not. But I've been told I won't be leaving here until school hours are over, so I may as well be. Will you sit?"

She did, and he told her everything. He had anticipated objection from his Council watchdog, but word about Jenny's involvement in Sunnydale's supernatural defense seemed to have been passed on, and Willoughby requested only that she keep the necessary secrets. While she was there he remained in the room with them, or the next one over, but was respectfully silent while they talked, keeping his attention on the paperwork he had brought for himself.

It was hard for Giles to tell Jenny the shameful story of what had led him to this, and it was made worse by his nagging sense of déjà vu. He knew that in truth she was hearing it now for the first time, but her intent expression made her so identical to Drusilla's illusion of her that he had to stop and steady himself a few times before he could continue talking.

"It hardly matters that I'm prohibited from seeing her," he concluded bitterly. "I don't expect she would have anything to say to me. Or that there's any way I can help her now."

Jenny squeezed his hand in sympathy, but her own concerns seemed slightly off-center. "Have you heard from Angel?" she asked in a voice low enough to avoid catching Willoughby's attention.

"He knows what I did to Buffy. Why would he come to me?"

"I don't know. But when I saw Buffy this morning she didn't say anything about him except that he found the lair with her. I'm just worried about—-about both of them."

Giles removed his glasses. "Yes. Well." He thought again about the way Drusilla had manipulated him, and how his imagined Jenny had shown such interest in Buffy's weakness. Was he ever going to be able to cleanse himself of that memory, or would he forever hear her voice in his head telling him that he couldn't win? He sighed. "Jenny. You must understand the choice I've made in this, however much I may wish I could take it back. My role as Buffy's mentor is removed; she and Angel see me as an outsider now, and I've little doubt that her friends will follow suit. If you disregard my betrayal of her, you'll be taking a side."

"I know," said Jenny with a diffident shrug. "I think Buffy's old enough to decide for herself who she will or won't forgive." She pressed her forehead into her fingertips, a weary gesture from an overburdened woman. "There's someone I need to talk to. If they let you go back to the school soon I'll meet you there, okay? Otherwise I'll be back here soon."

***

Buffy made a token attempt to attend her classes. She made it through the first one, without comprehending a word spoken or a figure drawn on the chalkboard, but halfway through History, she recalled with alarming precision the way that Angel's lips had fluttered against her collarbone. Without a word she stood up and left the classroom as the teacher's stern voice followed her and then faded away.

She tried his apartment first and found it empty and unchanged from how it had been when she left. While making the rounds to every place in town she could conceive of him taking shelter, she returned there twice more, to no avail. Willy swore he had no information no matter how she threatened—-she didn't dare hit him, for fear that he would notice her weakened strike—-and there was no sign that he was lying. Angel really had just disappeared.

Willy was kind enough, or more likely, nervous enough, to let her use the bar's phone. As she expected, Travers picked up at the library, but when she would only respond to everything he said with repetitions of "Let me talk to Willow," finally he relented and passed off the phone.

"They won't even let us touch some of the books!" were Willow's first words, delivered in a hushed fury. "I don't know who they think they are! These aren't their books! They're school proper—" She cut off there, listening to another voice that buzzed in the background, and then continued, "Okay, apparently _some_ of the books belong to the Council, but still! Here we are trying to help save the world, and they're cutting off our resources!"

"Yeah. Kind of a theme, with them."

Willow's outrage immediately gave way to sympathy. "Oh, Buffy, I'm so sorry. I can't believe they put you through that. We'll get everything back to normal though, you'll see. Did you find Angel?"

Buffy tried to keep her voice normal, but it was hard to speak around the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. "No. And I looked everywhere. He's gone, Will. I don't understand."

"Well, he's probably trying to protect you, and he's got some kind of plan..."

"What plan?"

The desperation in Willow's efforts at solace was growing, but she continued gamely. "I don't know, I'm not in on the plan. But he must have had to lay low for a while or he would have called you, right?"

"Or he's dead." Buffy noticed a pair of vampires sitting at the bar and staring at her, and she glared back viciously until both dropped their eyes and went back to their drinks.

After letting Willow talk her out of that possibility, she promised to get to the library after stopping at home, and then she gave the phone back to Willy. As she leaned against the bar, pondering her next step, it occurred to her that any one of the patrons here tonight could make short work of her if they chose to attack. There was currently too much on her mind to really let her care about putting herself in danger so casually, but she knew she didn't have the luxury of keeping that attitude for long. Last night's events had been enough to alert Spike to her weakness, and the news would soon spread to every demon in Sunnydale.

She was right outside her own door before something told her, without warning or reason, that it was time to check Angel's apartment again. The sun had gone down; maybe he had returned from his cover. There was nothing that important to do at home, really. She was off in a hurry, trying not to let herself hope for much.

But then she found a shirt on his bed and hope flared, and then she turned around and saw him, real and solid and present, and hope turned to fireworks within her.

The next thing that happened to hope was a death that went unnoticed. She couldn't examine what was going on inside her, or why seeing him safe was no longer the only thing she wanted. Her comprehension of events was only enough to cover the bare facts: he wasn't dead and he hadn't been trying to protect her. He just wasn't interested.

In the space of the few minutes that she spent in the apartment with him, Buffy considered any number of conclusions that she could take from this. It was her fault; she had insisted when she should have been demure, and now he thought she was a slut. It was her fault; waiting this long to do it was stupid when they could have started last year, and the right moment had passed. It was his fault; he should have shown her what he liked, so that he could have enjoyed himself more. It was the Judge's fault; too much pressure was on both of them to make this count before the world ended. It was nobody's fault; they just weren't sexually compatible.

She had never believed any one of those thoughts. She might have spoken all of them out loud if she had been able to find her tongue.

Instead she put her heart on the line with the greatest truth that mattered to her, and told him she loved him. He turned the words back on her and left. He just left. Numbly Buffy sat down on the bed and folded her hands on her lap, afraid of the sensations that her sense of touch could bring back to her here. Angel had gasped out her name as his body rippled in ecstasy. Teardrops had fallen from his face and splashed onto hers. Could she really have imagined that? Was she just desperate enough to make herself believe that she meant as much to him as he did to her?

***

The periodic chime from her laptop alerting her to a new message from Oz was about the only thing that had made Willow smile all evening. Fed up with the Watchers' restrictions on which books she was allowed to handle, she had retreated to the haven of the internet, where the demonology sources were harder to verify but free from interference. As she had hoped, Travers didn't put enough stock in electronic research to even look over her shoulder, so she sat undisturbed in a corner of the room, quietly rebelling by filling Oz in on everything that he had missed since last night.

She clicked on his latest contribution to their conversation and read: _There are two Slayers? Find out if they're looking for a theme song. I already have a few chords coming to mind._

Willow covered her mouth to hide a giggle, and then looked around and realized that nobody was around to notice anyway. Travers and the less important Watcher (she was having the hardest time retaining his name) were in Giles's office (which burned her up even though she was still horrified by what Giles had done to Buffy). Xander and Cordelia must have needed a break from looking through the same two books over and over again; they were nowhere in sight. Probably working out their frustrations on each other, Willow thought, judging from the way they had recently been arguing. She hoped Xander would return soon, though. Nights like these were always easier when she had him on hand.

She was relieved when Buffy called—-Buffy had been through so much that day that it was hard not to worry about what she was up to—-but by the end of the conversation things didn't feel any less bleak. Willow sighed, closed her laptop, and went out to the hall to tell Xander that Buffy was on her way.

He wasn't immediately visible, which scared her a little. Clearly nothing too terrible had happened, though, since Cordelia was in plain sight, necking with some guy against the lockers in her usual shameless display. Willow looked away in disgust. She could have at least shown some respect for Scooby secrecy and done this a little farther away from their base. Why was her boy toy even at the school at this hour, anyway?

As Willow turned on her heel to go back into the library, Cordelia apparently heard her footfall and looked up, and let out a little gasp that elicited the same reaction from her boyfriend and made Willow look back over her shoulder at the same moment.

Her heart lurched. The face that had been blocked from view by Cordelia's hair...that wasn't some guy. This wasn't Cordy's usual shameless display. This was against all laws of God and man.

"Willow!"

She ran.


	9. Innocence: Part 3

Giles didn’t feel better by the time he got to the library. The sun had just barely set, but the ordeals of the last two days made him feel as if he had been awake for much longer than he had. Willoughby had at least allowed him to drive his own car, but refused to stop shadowing him until they were reunited with the other Watchers. Jenny hadn’t called. Giles hadn’t counted on hearing from her yet, but his anxiety over her was still eating at him.

The first relief he felt was at the sight of an animated, composed Slayer standing at the library’s table, engaged in a discussion of strategy with two Watchers. “Kendra,” he greeted her. “I wasn’t expecting you to make it here so soon.”

“Zabuto moves quickly,” said Travers, as self-satisfied as if he had produced Kendra out of thin air by himself. “As can we all, provided our lines of communication are open.”

Giles ignored the barb, and Kendra didn’t seem to notice it. “I weel be of sarvice while Buffy recovers,” she said with her usual formality, but her expression revealed a hint of worry. “She _weel_ recover?”

“Of course. It won’t be much longer.” 

Travers gestured at an empty chair across from himself, which Giles reluctantly took. “And she’ll be joining us here shortly,” he said.

“Where are—“ Giles hesitated. The Sunnydale civilians who knew about Buffy’s secret would probably be a sore spot among the Watchers’ Council for a while; it was best not to mention anyone by name. “—-The other students?”

“Willow went to her special hyperventilation place, wherever that is,” came a cynical female voice from the steps. Giles blinked; he hadn’t seen Cordelia sitting there, which in itself gave him a start. Ordinarily she was the first to make her presence in a room known to everyone. “Xander went to check on her.”

Giles took off his glasses. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing that’s going to put the world in peril any more than it already is.”

Feeling that he wasn’t going to get anything concrete out of her, Giles looked at Kendra, who shrugged one shoulder in a clear indication that such matters were beneath her. And, Giles supposed, they were. Kendra’s sometime friendship with Buffy was the most exposure to the life of an ordinary teen that she was ever likely to have. She was a living weapon, the Slayer that the Watchers’ Council had always aimed to create through their specialized training program.

Of course, now they would be forced to inform her about the Cruciamentum, if they hadn’t already. Kendra’s loyalty might be in jeopardy. A fierce jolt of triumph went through Giles-—let them fire him. Their entire system might be coming down along with him.

Travers set down a few books on the table, none of which belonged to the library collection, and Giles wondered, not for the first time, how many crucial texts had been kept from him for bureaucratic reasons. “We’ve been studying the history of the Judge,” said Quentin in a voice that almost sounded like he was trying to make peace. “If you’d like to participate, you might start with these.”

Giles returned his glasses to his face and opened the book at the top of the stack. It didn’t look like a promising source, but there was little he could do but accept it. “What do we know so far?”

“No weapon forged...” Travers began, and Giles stifled a sigh. As he’d expected, nothing of substance followed. 

“Well then,” Giles inquired after the facts were laid out, “shall we concentrate on how to acquire an army on such short notice?”

“Not precisely. It was, after all, an army of humans. We may be able to compensate with some of our other assets.”

Giles looked across the room at Kendra. She was inspecting the weapons that had been selected for her, hefting each one with effortless competence and testing its weight, ready to be the asset that they needed. “One Slayer is not an army,” he replied darkly.

Before Travers or anyone else could reply, the double doors swung open and Buffy marched in, followed by both Willow and Xander, and then Jenny. Everyone turned to them with greetings and questions on their lips, but the newcomers were already engaged in a fast-paced, disjointed conversation of their own, and hardly acknowledged anyone else as they entered.

“But he didn’t try to hurt you!” Willow was saying to Buffy, distress painted plainly on her face. “I mean, yeah, there was threatening, but he had you right there and he could have—“

Xander interrupted before Buffy could answer, if answering was her intention. “Could have what, killed all of us? The only reason we all walked away from that is Miss Calendar and her cross.”

“We don’t know that yet,” Jenny said. “Let’s just not make any assumptions until we talk to—“ She stopped in her tracks, seeming to notice everyone in the room for the first time. Her eyes passed over the Watchers, Kendra, and Cordelia, and then landed on Giles with an unspoken question in them.

Having no way to answer her, he addressed Buffy instead, who had retreated to the farthest corner of the room without saying anything. “What happened? Who attacked you?”

“Angel!” Willow burst out, evidently too upset to let Buffy answer for herself. “Giles, you wouldn’t have believed him, he was so—“ She cut herself off there, just as Jenny had done, but with an added expression of sudden animosity that reminded him of his current precarious standing with Buffy’s friends.

Heart in his throat, Giles turned back to Buffy for confirmation. “Is this true?” he asked, but his question was lost beneath Cordelia saying _”What?”_ , Travers saying, “Angelus has returned?” and Kendra saying, “Ahn-gel? He t’reatened ya?”

With all eyes pointed at her, Buffy seemed to realize that she had to make some kind of response, and she chose to do so with a brief nod before fixing her eyes on the floor in front of her. 

Travers cleared his throat. “I was informed this morning that ‘Angel’ is the current handle of the vampire Angelus, and that he has somehow obtained a soul and has been aiding you, Buffy. Is this the same...person to whom you are referring, now?”

“Yes,” said Buffy tonelessly, but she was looking at Willow and Xander.

Willow, taking the hint, explained, “We told him about how you and Angel are _friends._ You know, coworkers. War buddies.” 

“Right,” Xander agreed. “On account of Angel being good and conscience-having now, which I guess was a little premature.”

“But this is remarkable!” Willoughby burst out. “A vampire with a soul? There isn’t any such thing described in any of the records, and they go back for millennia! How is it possible?”

Giles shot a glare at the young Watcher, but Jenny spoke first. “How is it important? We’ve just lost a powerful ally and we have the Judge at our back door. This isn’t the time to investigate Angel’s history.”

“It may be precisely that time,” Travers countered. “The more we understand about how his soul was granted to him in the first place, the better our chances of duplicating the effect and correcting his allegiance, as it were.”

A desperate gleam of hope struck Buffy’s expression, making Giles ache for her even more than he already had been. “You can do that?” she asked Travers.

“We’ll certainly give it an attempt. As Willoughby said, this is an entirely unique situation, and it presents us with an opportunity to unveil some old mysteries about the nature of our enemy. Of course, it’s by no means guaranteed that we can restore Angelus’s soul, to say nothing of doing it in time to enlist his help against the Judge. But we have little enough information on the latter, and since Angelus could soon become a matter of some urgency, I think you should tell me all you know about him.”

Buffy looked numb. “Like what?”

Travers rotated his chair to face her and placed his hands on his knees. “Well, let’s begin with the present and work backwards. He was with you last night, yes? Do you remember anything happening that may have triggered the transformation?”

“No,” Buffy answered immediately, but it was obvious that she didn’t like the question, and the looks she was getting from around the room showed that Giles wasn’t the only one who could tell. 

“It wouldn’t necessarily be something inherently magical,” Travers continued patiently. “We’re looking for any kind of anomaly—“

“No! I don’t know!” Buffy cried, just as Jenny said something that sounded like a warning about getting their hopes up and Willoughby took up a one-on-one discussion with the other young Watcher. Another conversation was buzzing around the steps leading up to the stacks, and everyone was unconsciously getting louder to make themselves heard.

Giles himself knew better than to step in at this point, but he did anyway. “Buffy, I understand how difficult this is for you, but we can’t afford—“

At hearing his voice, she stood up swiftly and rounded on him. “What? What can’t we afford, after we could afford to lie to me and cripple me for the sake of the Slayer Aptitude Test? If I leave now is it going down in my permanent record? Do you all have your red pens ready?” She stalked across the room until she was standing directly in front of Kendra. “I really hope you can help us,” she said gravely. “And then I hope you can get the hell away from all of this before your eighteenth birthday. I hope you find someone to trust.”

The younger Slayer’s serene façade had cracked visibly. “I am sorry about yar boyfriend,” she said in a voice pitched so low that Giles could hardly hear it.

Buffy nodded her acceptance of the meager consolation. “Thank you for coming, Kendra. Good luck.”

Everyone fell silent as they watched Buffy exit the library. Giles scanned the room, checking reactions, and realized that Willow, Xander, and Cordelia were all gone as well. They must have slipped out together before Buffy had delivered her final comments, although he couldn’t see why, especially when Cordelia’s words earlier had suggested such tension between the three of them. He sighed deeply. He had never realized how close he had grown to all of them until these rifts began to appear.

“What should we do?” Jenny asked, not seeming to direct the question at anyone in particular.

“Buffy appears to need some time to herself,” said Travers. “That’s fine; we’ll see how she’s doing tomorrow. Kendra, I’d like you to be as informed as possible about Spike and Drusilla, considering that they’re the ones pulling the strings of the Judge. Perhaps Mr. Giles has some insight to share.”

Giles struggled against a new wave of bitter weariness. “I do,” he said, hardly hearing himself. “Both were sired by Angelus.”

***

As good as it was to be back in his rightful place with his true people, Angelus had to admit that he had forgotten how quickly Spike could become a nuisance. Power struggles weren’t the issue; both he and Drusilla had automatically accepted their elder’s return to leadership, but acceptance didn’t necessarily entail respect and it certainly didn’t entail silence.

“Listen, mate, I know you’ve been out of the game for a while, but we do still kill people. Sort of our raison d’être.”

Drusilla, with her eminently reasonable style of madness, knew better. “He doesn’t want to kill her. He wants to hurt her.”

There followed the first fight of their new beginning together. Angelus had expected it, in truth, but he wasn’t willing to let go of his plans for Buffy just for the sake of domestic harmony, and given the circumstances he could hardly invent a justification for his actions that would satisfy Spike’s contrasting priorities. At first he replied to all accusations with a shrug—he was the one in charge, he didn’t need to explain himself—but when Spike began to suggest cowardice he got fed up and entered the quarrel.

“She’s harmless, Spike. She’d hardly give _you_ a fair fight even if she feels like getting out of bed. The road’s clear for tomorrow, so just sit tight and let us make it happen.”

“Oh, good, right, the road’s clear for tomorrow. And for the day after that we’re counting on the world being destroyed already, are we? After all, what’s one sizeable threat when you’ve got a hypothetically sound plan working for you…”

Angelus slammed his hand down on the nearest crate. “The plan’s gonna work. And if it doesn’t, I’ll take care of Buffy. Happy?”

“Not in the—“

“Shhh.” Drusilla had come to kneel beside Spike’s wheelchair and was pressing a fingertip to his lips. “She’s a bird without wings. Fallen from her nest and full of such sweet sorrow. We won’t see her again til the end of all the living.”

Her words seemed to pacify him somewhat, and Angelus couldn’t help but smile. “That’s right. Show some compassion, Spike. Would you really want her to miss out on this?”

He knew the answer, of course: Spike didn’t care about how Buffy felt, as long as she wasn’t winning. For now, though, he could suck it up and deal with the doubt. Angelus cared very much about how Buffy felt. He probably wouldn’t get the chance to see her fall to pieces when she saw how many people she had failed to save, but he could imagine it clearly and that was enough. Her last few hours on earth would be of grief, and rage, and helplessness.

Offering a hand to Drusilla to bring her to her feet, he led her from the room and away from Spike’s mutterings. His head was full of music, and he needed time to think in the company of madness.


	10. Innocence: Part 4

The Watchers’ Council agreed not to keep Giles from his secondary job any longer, but as his job was centered in the library and the library was open to the public, he was unable to avoid their company the next morning. Quentin had no end of questions — about Buffy, about Angel, about everything the Hellmouth had thrown at them so far. Giles had already given him all information he had on the relevant topics, in his reports over the course of the last year, but Travers insisted on refreshers so as to cover anything that might have come across better vocally than it did through writing. The urgency of the situation had left Giles with little patience for the interrogation, but he couldn’t deny that there were benefits to having several trained researchers busy on the project instead of just himself and a few earnest teenagers.

Jenny stopped in before her first class of the day to offer them an online directory of occult history and ask if they had yet heard from Buffy, but her eyes, full of bland professionalism when they were on the Watchers and pure sympathy when they were on Giles, showed that her emotional support was the greater objective. She took his hand in hers when they were both hidden behind the counter, squeezed it gently, and then moved away again and went on talking about fourteenth-century mystics who might have been referencing the Judge.

Nobody seemed greatly surprised to see Buffy coming through the doors before the bell rang, but Giles couldn’t hold back a broad smile of relief at seeing her up and functioning. Her road to recovery had just barely begun, but it was the potential for an onset of depression that had really been worrying him.

Quentin said her name and Giles said nothing, waiting to see who she had come to see. Kendra wasn’t there, Quentin and his two helpers had none of her respect, and Giles himself wasn’t expecting reconciliation just yet. Still, he was taken aback when she ignored all of them and went straight to Jenny, cold fury painting her features. “What do you know?” she demanded.

Jenny stared back at her, lips pursed, before responding, “What do you mean?”

“Did you do it? Did you change him?”

All three Council representatives were standing up and drawing closer to the conversation. Quentin looked like he was about to speak, and then thought better of it. Everyone’s attention was on Jenny now.

“Why are you asking me?”

Buffy slammed the counter, open-handed, not needing Slayer strength to rattle everything sitting on it. “You _knew_ , you _liar_ , you bitch...”

As important as he felt it was to not interfere, Giles found this too much. “Buffy, get a hold of yourself! You can’t just—“

“Shut up, Giles.” She took another step closer to Jenny and repeated, “What do you know?”

The Watchers held their silence despite the unmistakable threat in Buffy’s voice, clearly more curious at the moment than they were intent on controlling her. Bastards. Jenny cast them one sideways glance and then lifted her hands in a pacifying gesture. “Okay, we’ll talk about it. Maybe in my office...”

“No.” Buffy choked out the word, and Giles could finally see the fear beneath her anger. “Now. What are you? What did you do to Angel?”

“I didn’t do it.” Jenny took a deep breath. “I didn’t know exactly what would happen, they just told me...”

“Who told you?” Buffy cut in.

“My people. I was sent to...to watch you, to keep you and Angel apart. He was supposed to pay for what he did to us.”

Giles stared at her, this woman he loved, this alien stranger. Her people? Who were her people? Had she lied to him about who she was, or had he simply never asked the right questions? And how could she, so firmly aligned with Sunnydale’s supernatural defenses for the past year, have caused such damage to his Slayer?

“And me?” asked Buffy. “What was I supposed to be paying for?”

Jenny shook her head. “I swear, if I had known I would have told you. But Buffy, wouldn’t you rather continue this conversation...later? Somewhere else?”

She looked at the Watchers. So did Giles. Buffy didn’t, and nobody spoke until she did. “Way to protect my secrets. I think we’re a little past that now.” She didn’t flinch. “Angel and I slept together last night. Is that what changed him?”

The sharp intake of breath that Giles heard was so closely concurrent with his own that he couldn’t tell who else had done it. Jenny’s eyes squeezed shut for an instant before she opened them to meet Buffy’s and said, “I think so. The curse said that if Angel felt true happiness, even for a moment, he would lose his soul.”

“Oh God,” said someone, whom Giles presently identified as himself.

Jenny looked down. “Is there...is there anything I can do?”

“Curse him again,” Buffy demanded without hesitation.

“I can’t. That magic is long lost, even to my people...”

“If you did it once—“

Quentin cut in unexpectedly, speaking over Buffy and giving Jenny a sharp look. “Who are your people?”

Giles’s guilt finally found an outlet, channeling into anger at the unwelcome presence and attention of the Council. “That’s nothing at all of your business,” he snapped.

Naturally, Quentin went on as if he hadn’t even heard. “It’s unconfirmed, but rumor has the soul of Angelus being restored by Gypsies. Are you of Romani descent, Miss Calendar?”

“Yes,” she admitted wearily, “but that’s all I have, descent. None of the sorcery involved has been passed down to me.”

Willoughby and Quentin’s other assistant had still said nothing, but Giles saw with disgust that the latter had produced a small pad from his pocket, and was actually taking notes. “Even so,” Travers persisted, “if you were assigned this task, you have a connection to a source of power and knowledge that may be essential. With your aid, we may be able to unveil the rudiments of the spell work that allowed your ancestors to gain control of the soul’s journey. Pardon my forthrightness, Miss Calendar, but this is far too important to withhold.”

Buffy had been listening quietly, and now turned a studious look on Jenny. Her inclusion of the three Watchers, and even of Giles himself, in this most intimate conversation on her personal life had baffled him, but now he saw that she had been planning this all along. Last night, Quentin had suggested that Angel could be restored to his former self, and Buffy must have brought Jenny’s involvement into the equation and concluded that she had to probe them all for a solution, however unpleasant the discussion would be for her.

“You don’t understand,” said Jenny, shaking her head in frustration. “Whatever this spell was, it’s _gone_. We haven’t trained a real witch in generations. I’m sorry, Buffy. I can’t help you.”

Buffy’s tone of voice identified her as the real authority in the room. “Then take me to someone who can.”

†

On Miss Calendar’s recommendation, Buffy allowed Travers to accompany them to her uncle’s hotel room so that he could hear any vital information firsthand. On her own judgment, she told Giles that his company wasn’t needed. The junior Watchers were very firmly not invited. After all, they needed to keep the group small if they were going to get anything out of Enyos. Nobody questioned her, Giles least of all. Good.

Enyos’s hotel room smelled of pipe smoke and murder. Enyos himself was cut to ribbons on the bed, his face frozen eternally in sudden dismay. Buffy eyed the taunt that was painted on the wall as Miss Calendar cried out and ran over to the body. Even in the oversized letters in the medium of fresh blood, she could identify Angel’s handwriting. Any doubt about what had happened to him was gone, and so was any hope that the Kalderash people could reverse it.

The Kalderash people weren’t supposed to be her only hope, though. Buffy looked at Travers, who was still staring at the body, pale but stoic. “I should very much like to meet this Angelus,” he said in a low voice.

“I don’t know if you’re heartless or just insane,” replied Buffy, “but either way, you better mean that as a threat.”

†

Willow held open the door for Xander and Oz, who were following her into the library with the long box freshly stolen from the army base. Xander hadn’t quite been meeting her eye all night, which was fine with her. Oz had passed up what she thought was a prime opportunity for a first kiss, but did so with an explanation she could handle until things settled down. Both boys were a little too aware of the situation for her comfort level, but they let none of it into their interaction with each other. That was a relief: the box looked too heavy for Willow’s liking, and Cordelia was still complaining about being the one to help Xander get it out to the van.

The library was empty except for Giles and Kendra, who were in deep conversation about Spike and Drusilla. Books and weapons were everywhere, and Willow guessed that they had been preparing for a while now. “Where is everyone?” she asked as the boys set the box down on Giles’s desk and Cordy fussed with a small spot on her jacket.

“Buffy is, ah, investigating Angelus,” said Giles. “With Jenny. And...and Quentin.”

The implications of Giles being left behind on such an endeavor weren’t lost on Willow, but she was still having trouble finding any sympathy for him. Xander was too, apparently, as he replied caustically with, “And we’re just in time for the Sidekicks’ Convention. Well, she better come back soon. The Judge needs some investigation too, like the giant-hole-where-his-head-used-to-be kind of investigation.”

“Is dis a weapon?” asked Kendra, running her hand across the edge of the crate. “For da Judge?”

Cordy sat down in Giles’s chair and crossed her legs. “It’s a rocket launcher. Xander made me pretend I was a skank so he could steal it. The things I do to save the world for you people!”

Willow bit back a comment about Cordy’s questionable use of the word ‘pretend’. Xander’s plan had been a good one, and she was impressed that the two of them had been able to pull it off, even though she wasn’t quite ready to believe that Cordelia Chase could be more an asset than a liability in any kind of plan that didn’t involve shopping.

Kendra had taken a crowbar to the box and opened it up, and Willow, unable to help being curious, peeked into it with her. “I ken wield dis,” the Slayer proclaimed. “We must find de Judge and de vampires, quickly. Dere is no time ta waste.”

“Just a sec there, Trigger-Happy Jack,” Xander cut in. “We brought this here for Buffy, and we’re not going anywhere without her. If you want to do some slicing and dicing I’m sure you’ll get your chance, but Sunnydale’s already got a lady, and this is her fight we’re talking about.”

Kendra was not at all happy to hear this. “Do ya not understand?” she snapped. “Dis is not Buffy’s battle, dis is Armageddon! Ahn-gelus mighta keeled har already, for all ye know!”

“Don’t _say_ that!” Willow cried.

Cordelia, of course, had far less emotion behind her stance. “You know, Xander, Kendra’s kind of right. While Buffy’s sorting out her love life, the Judge could start pulverizing thousands of innocent people who might be us. Someone else wants to pick up that gun, I say pick up that gun.”

Oz had said nothing since bringing in the box. He kept his silence now, but placed a warm hand on Willow’s shoulder, and she knew that his own plan was to follow hers, whatever it was.

“Giles?” said Xander. “Tie-breaker.”

Giles looked surprised to be spoken to. Apparently he had no designs on regaining some kind of leadership over this group, but he accepted the inclusion of a fair vote that Xander had just offered him. “Hm? Oh. Yes, well. We wait for Buffy. Of course.”

Cordy’s complaints and rolling eyes didn’t move him, and Kendra was unlikely to protest a decision coming from anyone resembling a Watcher, so Xander reached over and made a show of setting the lid back down on the rocket launcher’s box.

Tensions were only increasing as minutes ticked by, and Willow was grateful for more than one reason when Buffy returned, followed by Quentin Travers and Miss Calendar, both of whom were visibly shaken. Buffy herself had a dead look in her eyes that disturbed Willow on a deeper level than the threat of the Judge did, but before anyone could ask her about it, she spoke first. “No luck with Angel. Did you guys come up with anything for the Judge?”

“I’ll say we did,” said Xander. He headed back into Giles’s office, beckoning, and Buffy followed.

“This is good,” she said, looking into the crate with him.

“You want me to show you how to use it?”

Buffy shook her head. “No. Show Kendra.”

There was a brief spark of surprise from both Xander and Kendra. Neither voiced it, but Buffy went on to say, “We don’t have time to talk about who deserves to be the one taking out the badness. This is a job for the Slayer.”

Willow felt like Buffy had undergone light years of change overnight, leaving the rest of them behind as the naïve teenagers that they were. The friendship they had was too strong to bend to that, though, so she went ahead and asked her question. “Buffy, what happened?”

Before answering, Buffy looked around to see who else was close enough to listen, and seeing Xander, Oz, and Kendra, she bowed her head and said, “Angel killed Miss Calendar’s uncle. The Romani leader guy who she thought might be able to get his soul back.”

Willow’s mouth dropped open. “That means...”

“That means he’s an enemy. We’re fighting him, we’re not fighting for him. If we see him tonight, and we will, if this is going to work, then everyone has to be ready to face him or _stay away_ , because he’s going to kill again.”

Kendra nodded solemnly, arms crossed. Xander clasped a hand to his face. Willow took a deep breath. “What now?”

“We have to find them. We’ll check the factory first, but they might not be there. Kendra, you’re key here, are you ready for this?”

“I am.”

Miss Calendar appeared in the office’s doorway, Giles visible a few steps behind her. “Is there something I can do?” she asked quietly.

Buffy brushed past her as she walked out of the office, the others following. “Get out.”

Willow’s heart ached for her former favorite teacher even as she fumed over the betrayal, still too new to feel genuine. She wondered how close the woman had been to her uncle. As they all reconvened before the library counter, Willow was the only one whose eyes strayed back over her shoulder to the one who was still rooted to the spot outside the office door.

“I just want to help,” Miss Calendar added. Giles took a hesitant step in her direction but said nothing.

“You can’t,” Buffy replied. She turned her attention toward the others. “Oz, you’ve got the van outside?”

“Ready and waiting,” he said.

Giles finally spoke. “The rest of us can take my car.”

Buffy didn’t even have to hesitate to search for an answer to that. “We don’t need it. You’re staying.”

However he had felt about being excluded earlier, Willow guessed that it was nothing compared to this. “But Buffy--!” he cried, whipping his glasses off of his face.

She spared a second to look him in the eye, totally impassive. “This is not a test.” Then she turned away, silently giving her friends the cue to mobilize.

“Buffy,” said Travers, making Willow start. She had almost forgotten he was there. “You don’t have to go either, you know. You’ve strategized this well, and you’re right to say that Kendra should be the one handling the combat.”

“Yeah, well. I’m not a Watcher. Force of habit isn’t letting me leave the dirty work to someone else.” She gestured at Giles and Miss Calendar, who were as close to each other as Willow supposed Giles’s decorum would allow. “Keep them company.”


	11. Innocence: Part 5

The rocket launcher fired, steady and sure in Kendra’s hands, and the Judge disappeared in a cloud of flame and smoke. Buffy watched his entourage of vampires scrambling to get away from the explosion, her face a dispassionate mask even while her heart was screaming, _No, no, not there, Angel’s up there, he’ll get hurt!_

Whether or not he had been hurt, she couldn’t tell at first, and she came back to her senses swiftly as the shopping mall went berserk around her. Kendra was laying down the rocket launcher and trading it for a sharp, twisted stake she had concealed in her clothes. Shoppers were running, screaming, tripping each other up in their haste to get to the exits. As debris scattered and disconnected pieces of the Judge appeared on the floor, Buffy saw Drusilla regain her feet and flee, seemingly unharmed. Immediately she turned to look for Angel and saw his back just as he vanished around a corner.

There was a choice to be made and she had to make it fast. Her friends were protected by Kendra and held together by Xander, who was even now directing everyone to collect the Judge’s parts. Nobody was looking at her. Quiet as a breeze, Buffy slipped behind the refreshment stand and followed the man she had loved.

The smoke had reached the sprinkler system by the time she got to the next room, a corridor for the movie theater. The water made it harder to hear, harder to see, and with the Cruciamentum drugs still weakening her, she felt like a kitten stuck outside in the rain. She was alone in the room. Angel must have already left the building.

A sudden clout from behind her proved her wrong and knocked her to the floor. She stumbled to her feet with none of a Slayer’s grace, pushing wet hair from her face and searching for her attacker. She didn’t have to look far - he was right in front of her, close enough to help her up if he had wanted to. His hands stayed in his pockets, though, and he smirked down at her through the water streaming over his features. “Came to give me a final farewell?” he said. “Gosh, that’s really touching. Especially since you’re willing to die for it.”

Buffy didn’t move or look away from the eyes she knew so well, turned cruel overnight. She felt strangely calm. This was not Angel. “You’re not going to kill me,” she said confidently.

He laughed. “Oh? You sound pretty sure about that. Of course, yesterday you were pretty sure I loved you, and can I just say what a relief it is that I don’t have to put on that show anymore? I wish I’d known how easily you’d give it up. I wouldn’t have even bothered.”

“That’s not going to work.” She imagined herself fighting him, using the power she had once had and would soon have again. It would be real, and dirty, and too evenly matched to predict an outcome. Yes, she could fight him. “I know what happened.”

“You know what happened,” he echoed in a tone too dry to be anything but a mockery. With frightening deliberation he took one slow step forward, closing the gap between them, and put one hand on her arm. The other moved up to her face, lightly tracing a line from her neck to her cheek, as he leaned in close to whisper in her ear as the water rained down on them. “You did this to me, Buff. Are you proud of yourself?”

She thought about running. He could hear the wild pounding of her heart, she knew, and sense her understanding of how vulnerable she was to him at this moment. But that was why she needed to stay, to find out why he was playing it this way instead of going straight for the kill, and anyhow she couldn’t have escaped at this point no matter what she tried. She concentrated on keeping her voice steady and her body still; she couldn’t flinch for this, even if they both knew he could snap her like a twig. “You could have killed me back at the apartment,” she said. “Before I knew you’d changed. You could have done it while I was asleep.”

He lifted his head so that they were standing forehead to forehead and she could see his widening grin, ghastly as it was. “Smart girl,” he praised. “You’re right. I’m not done with you yet.”

His hand traveled back to her cheek, tenderly brushing a few strands of hair behind her ear, and Buffy experienced a jolt of terror as she realized that her defenseless position meant that he could do more than kill her. His other hand was at the small of her back, creeping under her shirt and caressing her spine. She stood rigidly, arms flat against her sides, but he was holding her like a lover. Even his breath felt sweet on her lips.

“You’re going to wish you took this chance,” she managed. “You’re going to look back and realize this was the last time you could have killed me and you should have killed me. And then, incidentally, you’re not going to have any more thoughts left to think.”

“And what are you going to remember?” he replied. His fingers at her back moved up under her bra strap, now soaked through by the sprinklers. The pad of his thumb pressed against her jaw as he cupped her head in his hand and kissed each of her eyelids with a feather-light touch. She had to fight hard to hold back tears, now - he had done exactly the same thing last night, just before he took off her shirt and...

Her whole body trembled. Angel drew back, smiling coldly. “I thought so,” he said with satisfaction. “Don’t fool yourself, Buffy. You can’t kill me.”

He turned and left at that, striding through the water pouring down without looking back at her. She stood rooted to the spot for a long moment after he was gone, letting everything he had said rattle around in her mind. “Give me time,” she whispered at the empty place where he had been. “Give me time.”

Before returning to the center of the mall, she took a deep, shuddering breath, and the sprinkler system turned off as if on cue. Wiping the water out of her eyes, Buffy went back the way she had come and looked around for her friends. Most of the shoppers seemed to have safely fled, and there was no sign of the other vampires. Gathered near the refreshment stand, she saw Willow, Xander, Oz, Cordelia, and...Giles.

She had been very deliberate in her command that he stay behind back in the library, and she didn’t like to think that it hadn’t been taken seriously, but she was too tired for real anger and too numb to feel anything else. At least it seemed he hadn’t brought the Watchers or Miss Calendar along.

He saw her before the others did and came running. “Thank God you’re alright,” he said in a husky voice as Willow noticed and dashed over, and the others looked up from where they were kneeling or crouching on the floor. Giles continued, gesturing awkwardly. “I saw you follow Angel, but...”

“Yeah,” said Buffy dully. “He got away. But everyone’s okay?”

Silence descended. Buffy looked past her friends and finally saw what she had been missing: Kendra’s still form, eyes wide open, her own stake planted in her heart.

†

“I don’t suppose you’ll be interested in hearing that you passed the test.”

Quentin Travers was standing at the head of the library’s table. Slowly, Buffy raised her eyes from the wood surface to fix him with a dead stare. He had been visibly shaken by Kendra’s death, but shaken wasn’t enough. If he had fallen to his knees before her body and renounced the Council and all its ways, it still might not have been enough. Buffy had nothing to say to him, but she didn’t think he would leave town until he had said his piece about the Cruciamentum, so she had consented to spending a few minutes in the library listening to him extol her bravery and quick thinking.

She didn’t answer, so Giles, standing at the door of his office, said, “Then it’s over. Let her be.”

The only other person present was Miss Calendar, pressing herself against the counter between Giles and Travers. She hadn’t yet spoken, and Buffy didn’t know which Watcher had asked her to be there or why she had agreed. She made eye contact with the other woman once, for just a second, but Miss Calendar couldn’t seem to bear her gaze, and blinked away from it immediately.

“Indeed we’ll be departing tomorrow,” said Travers to Giles. “But your opinion on the matter, I must inform you, is no longer warranted. The Council has ruled that you be relieved of your duties as Watcher, effective immediately. You’re fired.”

This came as news to Buffy, and Giles was clearly taken aback. “On what grounds?” he asked.

“The test may have run foul of our intentions, but the events of the last two days have still provided ample opportunity for observing the Slayer’s capabilities, and yours. Buffy showed great skill in her approach to each obstacle. You, however, disobeyed direct orders and left yourself open to the enemy, and we have sufficient reason to believe that this is symptomatic of your improper affection for your charge.” His voice softened, which did nothing for how much Buffy was hating him at the moment. “Your loyalty to your Slayer is admirable in its own right. If Zabuto had been here tonight, I can only hope that he would have done his best to save Kendra as well. But we must think first of our cause, and how a father’s love can impair a Watcher’s logic. We are fighting a war, Mr. Giles.”

The following silence was broken by a brief, incredulous laugh, which Buffy then realized was her own. “Why stop there?” she asked. “Kendra dead and Giles fired; the rest of us could just put up a white flag and talk to the vampires about their skilled approach to each obstacle.”

Travers gave her a stern look. “We are _all_ grieving for Kendra, Buffy, but this doesn’t mean the sun won’t rise tomorrow - and we must remain vigilant when it sets. Given the circumstances, you’ve been excused for all of your untoward actions of late, but new dangers have been set loose, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Angel’s parting smirk slashed through Buffy’s mind like a knife. There was still reason to endure the interference of the Council, she reminded herself. It might not be enough to call it hope, but it was the only path she could see that didn’t end in Angel’s death at her hands, or her own at his. “You said you could find a way to get his soul back,” she said.

“Me personally? No. For that we’ll need to turn to a new ally.” At this he looked pointedly at Miss Calendar.

Buffy raised an eyebrow in her direction, but she seemed unprepared to be addressed, and shook her head violently before answering. “Is _that_ what - no! You don’t understand. I can’t work that kind of magic.”

“That seems to me an insufficient argument, before you’ve even tried,” said Quentin, smooth and collected now that he was on top again.

“I’m not part of your organization or your little personal war on vampires,” Miss Calendar said furiously. “You have no authority over me and no right to be giving me orders.”

“This is not an order,” he assured her. “It’s a suggestion. If you attempt to recreate the spell of your ancestors, you’ll be supported by all the resources of the Watchers’ Council - which I might remind you, are formidable - and if you succeed, you’ll remove a frightful monster from this town with no bloodshed needed. I should think that you’ll have the appreciation of a few of your own friends, as well.”

A fresh retort died on Miss Calendar’s lips. She didn’t look any more optimistic, but all three of them were scrutinizing her now, Buffy with a sense of challenge rather than encouragement. This woman had been teaching her classes and dating her Watcher and knowing her secrets, and now the truth was out, that all of it had begun with no objective but to make sure Angel was suffering. If Jenny Calendar had reservations about the task being assigned to her, she could suck them up and do her part.

“I’ll...do some research,” she said. “I can’t guarantee anything.”

Travers nodded, as if that settled the matter. He looked back to Buffy. “It’s in everyone’s best interest to restore the soul of Angelus, and we’ll do everything in our power to see that it happens. If we succeed, however, he’ll need to appear before the Council in England. Under no circumstances can we allow you to continue any kind of romantic liaison with him, is that understood?”

Buffy raised her eyes dispassionately up to his horrible face. “Bite me.”

He didn’t flinch. “We’ll discuss it once again when the time comes. Congratulations again on passing the test.” He left the room. Buffy imagined him going straight to the airport, leaving the country never to return, and it made her feel a little better to imagine that in doing so, he was forever leaving her consciousness as well.

“I’ll get to work,” said Miss Calendar wearily. Neither Buffy nor Giles replied, and she walked out through the double doors just as Travers had.

“I need a ride home,” Buffy stated when she and Giles were alone.

He stirred from the still pose he had been holding in his office doorway. “You’re hurt,” he objected gently. “Let me--”

“No.” Buffy didn’t know when she’d been injured, but she couldn’t deny that half of her face ached and there was blood on her shirt and her frozen heart did nothing to dull the physical pain. She wouldn’t let him help her, though. Not now. “I want to go home to my mother and eat a damn cupcake and sleep in my bed. All I’m asking you for is a ride, Giles. Can you handle it?”

He looked as devastated as she had ever seen him, but he said nothing, simply led her out to his car and drove her home.

_Eighteen,_ she thought as she stood outside her home with her hand on the doorknob. _I got older._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all I've got so far, but I intend to continue this story sooner or later. If and when I do, I'll add more chapters to cover the rest of Season 2, and then start a new work for anything that happens beyond that. 
> 
> If you're reading, thank you! If you're enjoying it, even better. Let me know what you think, and what you'd like to see from me in regards to this or any of my fanfiction.


	12. Phases: Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those who showed an interest in this story. It got me going again, and I hope you're still around to see the result. 
> 
> Second half of "Phases" coming soon.

Buffy’s fingers probed the edges of the tear in the roof of Cordelia’s convertible. The material felt thick and tough under her hands, not something that would easily give way to a natural creature’s claws. She asked anyway: “And you’re sure it was a werewolf?”

Xander was sure, and his description of the creature that had attacked while he and Cordy were in the car drew a fair picture of the classic mythological beast. “Not to mention it was a full moon!” Cordy added.

Oz and Willow gave her a side-eye, perfectly in synch with each other, and she crossed her arms. “What? Everyone knows the full moon is a werewolf thing. You don’t have to be a total nerd to know that.”

“Actually, the full moon is tonight,” said Willow. “Last night was the night before the full moon, traditionally known as...the night before the full moon.” She unrolled a newspaper she had tucked under her arm and pointed to a feature in the corner of the back page.

Oz lifted an eyebrow. “So it’s not a werewolf?”

“Or the werewolf is using last year’s almanac,” suggested Xander.

“Or the whole legend is a crock,” Cordelia put in.

Buffy rubbed her brow, trying to ignore her instinct to take this debate straight to Giles. He would have been positively grateful to straighten it out for them, but she wasn’t ready to talk to him yet, let alone work beside him. “Willow, did you find anything else in the paper?”

“Yeah.” Willow’s shoulders drooped. “There were some wild animal, um, bodies found this morning...well, they used the word ‘mutilated’...” She shuddered.

“We can use the word ‘askew’,” Oz offered, and Willow perked back up.

Xander was looking at Buffy, expectant optimism written all over his face. “So, our beastie gets the coveted award for No Dead Humans in Sunnydale. What do we do to make sure he keeps it?”

The truth, at least for the moment, was that Buffy had no idea. She tried to string a rudimentary plan together as she answered. “Well, I’ll patrol tonight. If it’s a werewolf it might be out again. If it’s not...well, it might still be out, and if it isn’t, then we’ll know that it’s...a werewolf, or it’s not…”

“Are you _kidding_?” snapped Cordelia. “Giles needs to research this! Get him!” A thought seemed to strike her, and her eyes darkened. “Don’t tell me this is some kind of grudge thing. Okay, he poisoned you. Get over it! Xander and I almost got _mauled_ by a hideous monster and do I need to remind you that Daddy just got this car detailed?” She waved expansively at the torn roof. “Obviously there’s only one person around who can do better than ‘may-or-may-not-be-a-werewolf’, and you haven’t even told him what happened?”

This might be a good time to practice being patient with Cordelia, Buffy acknowledged, but she could save that for the full moon. “You know, Giles is the school librarian,” she said. 

Willow picked up the thread immediately. “Library’s open to all students.”

“It’s that way,” Oz added, pointing.

After a few seconds of silent glaring, Cordelia lifted her chin and said, “Fine. I will.” She stalked off toward the library.

Xander looked torn, and Buffy sighed in exasperation. “Oh, go with her,” she said, and Xander bounded away with a grateful smile as Buffy muttered to the others, “Match made in heaven.”

†

Willow was alone the next day in the computer lab when Buffy found her, typing away at some complicated formula on the monitor that could have meant anything. “That’s a lot of numbers,” Buffy remarked, and then, noticing the laptop balanced on Willow’s knees, added, “Too many to fit in one computer?”

“Well, I’m trying to help Miss Calendar with her class,” said Willow, as if it were an apology. “So she can concentrate on...you know.”

“Angel,” Buffy nodded. She set her bag on the floor and slumped into the chair beside Willow’s. “Has she said anything about how that’s going?”

“A couple things that were non of the committal. I mean, I can tell she’s serious about trying, but I guess with the spell being lost to the ages and all, she doesn’t have a lot of hope.”

_Neither do I_ , Buffy wanted to say, but she knew that would be a lie; she couldn’t be feeling so afraid of Miss Calendar’s ultimate failure if there wasn’t some hope of success behind it. She had only spoken to her once since the day the secrets had come out, and the conversation had been much like the one that Willow had just relayed. Buffy doubted that Miss Calendar, whatever Romani connections she had, would even be attempting to restore Angel’s soul if she hadn’t been put up to it by the Watchers’ Council, with Buffy and Giles listening.

“You think she and Giles are still dating?” Buffy asked.

The laptop having apparently served its purpose, Willow closed it as she answered, “Yeah. They’re a little more hush hush about it now, but I saw him kind of touch her hand today when -- eep!”

Miss Calendar had just entered from the door at the far end of the lab, Buffy saw with a glance over her shoulder. She turned back to face the powered-off machine in front of her without saying any words of greeting, but Willow, frantic with embarrassment that their conversation might have been overheard, began stuttering out an explanation of what she had been working on for the class. 

Her jitters might have been incriminating if Miss Calendar had actually cared whether the girls were discussing her love life, but she merely set down a few books that she was holding and stilled Willow with a gesture. “That’s great. Thank you. I won’t bother you, I just came to make sure you weren’t planning on killing the werewolf tonight.”

That got Buffy’s attention. “What? We weren’t even sure if it is a werewolf.”

“Rupert is convinced it is. And he says it’s most likely an innocent person who doesn’t even know what he or she is doing. So if you’re going after it tonight...don’t slay.”

Buffy restricted her response to a curt, “Alright,” but she felt alarmed. She was always careful about administering killing blows only after she knew she was dealing with a legitimate evil, but she hadn’t even narrowed down the candidates for this threat yet, and she wouldn’t have put it past herself to assume it was a witless beast. Willow would have done a better job with the research, but Willow had been busy with the workload inherited from Miss Calendar, who in turn was busy trying to save the town from Buffy’s ex-boyfriend. 

_I should talk to him,_ Buffy thought, and then realized, with genuine dread, that she didn’t know if she had meant Giles or Angel.

†

Aside from making it known to Sunnydale’s vampire populace that they had a new master, there wasn’t much that Angelus had to change once he took over from Spike. He was actually impressed by how his grandchilde had handled himself in the leadership position, though he was careful not to say so in front of him or Drusilla. Up until Spike’s debilitating accident - Angelus smirked, remembering it - he had kept everyone more or less in line, and the evidence of it was that they remained obedient even now. Angelus could leave them to their duties and spend more time with his family.

Of course, it never hurt to bring all of the minions together for the occasional reminder that they were minions. He stood at the center of the walkway where he had once tried to spy on Spike, the highest point in the factory, and looked down at the vampires gathered below. “One missing,” he remarked. “Where’s that misborn brat Ford?”

Drusilla, the only one accompanying him on the upper level, answered with a pout. “His roots went walking. What we plant won’t grow for us this time. Didn’t like the soil in our garden.”

“Your soil’s not the problem, Dru. The boy thinks he’s his own. Listen,” he said, raising his voice to address everyone, “if you find Ford, you bring him here to me. We’re gonna have a talk about where his hands belong.”  
Spike was playing wallflower, confined to his wheelchair, but he sounded more amused than sulky. “Not on your Slayer, is the point you’re making here?”

Angelus grinned back at him. “Exactly. And as for her, well...I’ll be busy tonight.”

†

She wasn’t exactly alone in the park, but all that Buffy could see of the other students here was the occasional pair of silhouettes inside a fidgeting car, and they could see nothing at all of her. Nevertheless, she felt a flush creeping up her neck. She wasn’t embarrassed by the familiar faces she glimpsed sucking greedily at each other, but the memories they triggered were humiliating enough for anyone. She had brought Angel up here, just once, knowing that it didn’t suit him at all but unable to resist the lure of exhibitionism. As soon as she was sure that at least one girl in her class had seen her making out with a smoking hot college-age guy, she told him they could continue their embrace in a nice private cemetery.

He had known exactly what she was doing, and had raised no complaint. He had teased her just enough to show that he was a willing participant in her games. Her secrets had always been safe with him.

They weren’t anymore.

Buffy kept walking among the trees, shining her flashlight to the ground now and then, looking for werewolf prints or whatever other clues the park might offer up. A sound came from deeper into the wooded area, and she froze - a couple would have been whispering together, but the footfall of one creature moving on its own, like she was, caught her attention immediately. 

Silence followed, for a few long seconds. Cautiously she stepped forward into a small clearing - 

\- And her feet flew up in front of her, the ground dropping away as she was hoisted up to branch level by a sturdy net. She caught her breath after one sharp squeal, but her hands discovered quickly that she was securely trapped. The thud of boots drew her eyes downward, and she found her predicament emphasized by the barrel of a long shotgun pointed her way.

“What the hell?” The gun’s wielder was a middle-aged man whose apparel seemed to come straight from a fashion show for big game hunters. 

“Don’t shoot!” Buffy replied, but further conversation was cut off by the sound of someone blundering toward them through the woods, calling, “Buffy! Buffy!” Her stomach turned over. She knew that voice.

The hunter turned with his gun to face the newcomer, who presently appeared and threw his hands up as if the scene was a complete surprise to him. “What’s going on?” said Angel through puffing breaths, gazing up at the crumpled heap of her in the net. “Are you okay? Who’s this guy?”

Buffy couldn’t believe it. In just a few seconds, the vampire had crafted a perfectly convincing portrait of himself as a hapless boyfriend, innocently running to her defense. There was no possible way she could unmask him now - the ruse would go on for as long as he found it entertaining.

“Name’s Cain,” said the hunter to Angel, finally lowering his gun even as he shook his head in reproach. “Your sweetheart here took a walk in the wrong direction, but she’s not what I’m here to bag, so you kids can just go on your way.”

“Easier said than done,” Buffy snapped, but he had already pulled out a large bucknife and was cutting the rope to release the net.

“Better be careful out here, missy,” he asserted with infuriating nonchalance as she dropped to the ground. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you what kind of monsters are on the loose.”

Buffy lurched to her feet. “What,” she said dryly, swatting dirt and dead leaves from her clothing, “like werewolves?”

She thought he looked interested, but Angel hadn’t yet given up his game, and the hand he placed on her shoulder at that moment chilled her entire body and distracted her fully from the conversation. He picked up where she left off: “We’re looking for the werewolf too. Any idea where else we might find him?”

Cain nodded and stooped to collect his net. “Wherever the boys and girls like to get together. Werewolves are suckers for that whole sexual heat thing, sense it miles away. Better if the two of you let me take it from here, though.” He gestured disdainfully at Buffy. “Or at least leave your cheerleader behind. Be a shame to see that pretty face get bitten off.”

Angel murmured an abashed agreement, but Buffy couldn’t bear to play the part in which he had cast her, and she firmly took a step away from him.

“Look,” she said, addressing only Cain. “You can’t go after the werewolf with that gun. You’ll kill it.”

“Uh huh. Just like the ones that these came from.” He hooked a thumb under the strand of apparent fangs that he had around his neck. “This next one will bring the total to an even dozen.”

Buffy was livid, beyond caution for the tense situation that this had become. “Twenty-eight days of the month a werewolf is a--”

She flinched as Angel put an arm around her once again. “I think he’s right, Buffy,” he said quietly. “We should probably just go home.”

After that, there was nothing to do but stand by meekly as Cain tipped his hat to Angel and set off with his net and shotgun. As soon as she could no longer hear him, Buffy whirled and pushed Angel away. She meant to shove him off his feet, but to her chagrin, he merely took a step back and regained his stance with his newly trademark smirk.

“What was that about?” she hissed.

He shrugged. “I told you, Buff, I’m not done with you yet. Not about to let some jungle creeper have this dance, that’s for sure.” 

“I don’t need any help from you.”

That made him grin broadly and hold out his arms. “So stake me.”

As long as she didn’t call his bluff, she knew, he would hold onto his assurance that she didn’t have the heart to kill him, and it would make him that much more dangerous. For now, though, she had to accept the standoff. “I’m busy,” she informed him.

“Right, you’ve got that werewolf to capture.” He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and turned to stroll away, pausing to look back at her and say, “Better figure out where the sexual heat is, aside from here. I wonder if you’ll get there before the extermination specialist does.”


	13. Phases: Part Two

The library felt oppressive and foreign, though nothing had changed about it since Willow had last been there. Cordelia and Xander were arguing, hotly but quietly, in a corner so that Willow couldn’t make out the shape of their disagreement. Giles and Miss Calendar were shut up in his office, but they were probably arguing too. Willow had nobody to argue with.

Last night, the werewolf had crashed through the ceiling of the Bronze and chased Willow and Cordelia outside. Willow knew precious little about what had happened after that, except that now it was daylight and they still didn’t know where - or who - the werewolf was. She wanted to say that most of the others inside the club had evacuated safely, but from what she had seen, it was less of an evacuation and more of a mad rush for the doors. For hours she had waited outside, watching the exits, while Giles and Miss Calendar had attempted to cast a spell that would hold the creature safely until daybreak. Apparently it had run off in the meantime through the doors on the opposite side, unseen by anyone.

The only real surprise about the failed plan, which Cordelia had explained to her and Xander this morning, was that the spell had temporarily worked. Miss Calendar, who was exactly as inexperienced in casting as she had claimed to be, was unable to keep it in effect for very long, and neither she nor Giles had the physical strength to restrain the werewolf through any other means. Cordelia had been furious, accusing them of being too proud to ask for Buffy’s help, and Willow could easily imagine that she was now turning the blame onto Xander.

The contention between Buffy and Giles was more complicated than that, of course. Willow knew that.

She just didn’t think it was a detail that mattered much to the two mauled bodies that they had found that morning in the Bronze.

“Has anyone told Buffy yet?” she asked to no one in particular. Xander and Cordelia both looked up and shook their heads.

Giles and Miss Calendar finally emerged from the office, releasing their continued conversation as the door opened. “...In the seating area while we were backstage, or how would we have missed it?” Jenny was saying.

“That was far past midnight,” Giles countered. “It’s extremely unlikely that two victims would have been available so long after everyone else had left the building.”

“The guy was _clearly_ a werewolf hunter! He had probably tracked it there and tried to shoot it down.”

“And poor young Theresa, she was his assistant perhaps?”

They both stopped near the table. “Hardly matters now, does it?” said Miss Calendar, her shoulders slumping. “Knowing how it happened isn’t going to make them any less dead.”

“Who’s dead?”

Everyone looked up. Oz had just come into the library. Willow’s shoulders tightened: she was still bothered by the way he had been acting toward her lately, but this was no time to be dwelling on it. “Theresa Klusmeyer. And some older guy that nobody recognized. The werewolf got into the Bronze last night.”

Oz took this news with evident shock, but followed it with nothing but a long silence. Xander was the first to leave the library, investigating a hunch about Larry, but Oz excused himself soon after, with no better excuse for it than being busy. 

†

Theresa had been a kind, soft-spoken girl that Buffy liked very much. Cain had been a sexist bully messing with dangerous forces. Neither of them should have had to die, but Buffy didn’t take herself to task for visiting Theresa’s coffin at the funeral home and skipping any such gestures for Cain. She didn’t know what had been done with his body anyway.

Xander came along, having finished his interview with Larry and crossed him off of the list of suspects for reasons he didn’t seem keen to discuss. For once, Buffy assumed that they would be in the company of corpses without any lurking danger, but she was feeling tense and it was hard to keep herself from kicking in the door to the showing room when she saw it close right before they reached it. Instead, telling herself that Theresa was bound to have visitors other than herself and Xander, she turned the knob slowly and entered with a respectfully quiet step to avoid startling whoever was in there.

It didn’t work: Oz seemed just as surprised to see them as she was to see him. He had one hand flat on the closed coffin, which struck her as odd, and for a second he almost gave the impression that he was about to bolt. “Hey,” he said cautiously.

“I forgot you knew her,” Buffy offered, to cover the silence after she and Xander awkwardly returned the greeting. 

“Not really well,” said Oz, still keeping the coffin between them. “I just had to see…”

Xander was looking suspicious, though in all fairness he had been that way toward Oz ever since Willow had started dating him. “See what?” he asked. “Theresa? That’s a little over the average level of morbidity, even for Sunnydale.”

“They said she was all ripped up,” Buffy added gently. “I think it would be better if we kept the lid closed.”

“That’s what they said.” It was clear now that Oz was on edge, and heedless of Xander moving slowly toward him. “We don’t know for sure if it was the same thing that killed those animals. It’s worth checking.”

“Oz -” Buffy started, but the coffin’s lid went up before she could say any more.

For a moment it hid both him and Xander entirely from her view, and then one of them pulled it down and their faces were revealed again, rattled and white, as the coffin clicked shut.

“And that’s why you don’t open a closed casket in a funeral home,” said Xander. “‘Yours Truly, The Werewolf.’”

Oz ignored him. “Buffy, I need your help. You can knock me unconscious, right? You’ve got to do it, as in now.”

“Why?” said Buffy, her brain less occupied with anticipation of his answer than it was with the question of whether she still wanted her best friend to be involved with this guy.

“Because the moon’s gonna rise soon,” Oz informed her. “And because I killed two people last night.”

†

Cordelia looked over the completed quiz on World War II that Willow had just handed back to her, and frowned. “I don’t get it.”

For once Willow couldn’t bother to hide her exasperation. “Cordelia, I didn’t leave you anything to not get. It’s a multiple choice and all the right answers are circled. See?”

“That’s what I don’t get. Aren’t you supposed to be all ‘teach a man to fish’ with homework? The only thing I asked you for was a reminder on who was Axis or Allies.”

Willow sighed, embarrassed. “Sorry. It was just faster to do it that way, and I really need to help Giles and Miss Calendar figure out how to catch the werewolf.”

Cordelia glanced over to where the two teachers were hunched over a pile of old books on the countertop. “How are _we_ supposed to figure that out?” she complained, rolling her eyes. “I already told them they need Buffy for this. If they’re not going to listen to that, why would they listen to some decrepit factoid on wolfmen we dig out of their tomes?”

“Giles always listens,” said Willow. “I was kind of hoping we’d have more help tonight, though. Where’s Xander?”

“Tagging along after Buffy, which should come as a shock to nobody.” There was a lot of venom in Cordelia’s tone, and Willow couldn’t say she blamed her, especially when she added, “What about Oz?”

“He wanted to be someplace that was away from me.”

“What’s his problem? _Ugh._ Guys!”

Feeling a little better, Willow tried to explain the real reason that she wanted to concentrate on the research, without letting Miss Calendar overhear. The threat of Angel was still hanging over all of them, and even though Willow knew it was unrelated to the werewolf case, she couldn’t shake the feeling that if Miss Calendar had some time to work on it, she could find out how to restore his soul. Then everything would get better. Buffy and Giles would reconcile, the team would be a team again, and Oz would...well, no. Oz was still a guy.

As if those very thoughts had been a summoning, footsteps pounded up to the library double doors at a run, and the doors crashed open. Buffy and Xander had Oz between them and were ushering him forward, but he appeared to be sick or hysterical, hampering their efforts with wild convulsions. 

Everyone in the library leaped to their feet with questions and exclamations on their lips, but Xander shouted over them, “Get the cage open!” and Giles rushed to unlock it without any demand for more information.

Willow soon saw what he must have understood instantly: Oz wasn’t just flailing, he was transforming. It was him. The monster, the killer - it was her Oz. She swallowed all the dread welling up at that realization and ran over to help Buffy and Xander, who were still struggling to get him into the library’s book cage. She could see Cordelia coming up behind her, with the same apparent purpose but much more reluctance to get close to Oz.

Every inch of progress was harder and more dangerous than the last, as they could now see fangs in his mouth and claws on his fingers. He was growing, too, which Willow knew would impede Buffy far more than his strength. They were nearly at the open cage door when he twisted in their grip and turned to face Willow, snarling through a furry face. He swiped at her with one hand - no, it was a paw now - and then Buffy kicked him square in the chest, pushing him back and into the cage.

They had the door shut and locked before Willow registered the pain in her left forearm, which she had flung up a moment ago to protect her face. The werewolf, now fully transformed, pressed against the chainlink door and made terrible sounds, but as far as Willow could see, she was the only one who had felt its claws. 

Buffy turned around instantly and hugged her. “I’m so sorry Will. Don’t worry. He’ll be fine. It’s gonna be okay.”

Willow returned the hug briefly before disengaging, but as she stepped back she held up her arm, dazed. “Is it?” Three parallel lines were raked into her skin, gleaming red though not bleeding.

Everyone but Oz went silent. Willow looked desperately at each face, needing answers and knowing they weren’t there. “Giles? Jenny? Am I gonna be okay?”

†

Buffy found Giles in his office the next afternoon, alone. He looked surprised to see her but welcomed her in and offered her a seat, waiting to let her speak first.

“What are we doing about Oz?” she began.

“I’ve offered him the library as a shelter during the full moon,” he said. “We spoke for some time about his, ah, his condition, and I assured him that we won’t be revealing his secret or turning him into the authorities. He isn’t a murderer, Buffy. Fear may have led him to make some mistakes, but the...casualties of his attack are weighing on him heavily enough without adding any, ah, blame from us.”

“I wasn’t going to bring in authorities.” Buffy felt weary. “I just wanted to make sure we’re all safe.”

Giles took off his glasses. “Yes, of, of course.” 

The silence carried on for a few beats before she plunged into the rest of what she had to say. “Giles, this has been a disaster. Two people dead, Willow maybe turned into a werewolf, Angel showing up just to toy with me. We can’t let it happen again. You and I can’t go on like we’re not fighting on the same side.”

He sat very still, not even cleaning the glasses in his hand. “Have you forgiven me, then?”

Buffy shook her head. “No. But I need you.” She brushed a hand through her hair, hoping to hide her emotion. “Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll ever really forgive you. I just think that for now we can live with it. Maybe Travers was right. An effective team just gets weighed down by a personal relationship.”

He was hurt by that, she could tell, but she didn’t try to soften it for him. It hurt her too. “So I just need to know one thing,” she continued.

“What’s that?”

“The Watchers’ Council fired you, and I don’t like adding this adverb, but, supposedly. I told you to get lost, and that wasn’t supposedly. You might as well have just packed up and moved somewhere normal, but instead you’ve spent the last two days trying to save Sunnydale from a werewolf based on a rumor that Cordelia brought you.

“Who do you work for, Giles?”

He gave the question enough space to show that it was carefully considered, a gesture which she trusted more than she would admit. Finally he replaced his glasses on his face, looked her in the eye, and said, “As long as you’ll have me, I work for you.”

†

Willow wore long sleeves when she went to talk to Oz. It didn’t help. 

“I’m sorry about how all this ended up,” she said.

“You’re sorry,” he replied, toneless but for the slight emphasis on _you’re_ signifying the irony he intended to convey. He had been staring at the ground when she approached him, and he was still doing exactly that.

“Hey, I know you didn’t mean to, and I was kind of, so it’s a little bit my own - anyway, I’ve been studying werewolves a lot. None of the books say that a scratch is enough to transmit the condition.”  
“But none of them say it isn’t.” 

He was right, of course. She tried again. “I’ll be okay. Even if...I’ll just get locked up three nights a month, like you. Hey, m-maybe we could be like, cellmates. Moon buddies.”

Oz gave her a sorrowful, desperate look with no sign of laughter in it. “Willow, I destroyed an innocent girl and an experienced killer and tore their bodies into pieces and I don’t even remember doing it. We’ll find out next month how bad I hurt you, but until then I’m just going to stay out of your way.”

“I don’t want--”

“I’m sorry.” He said it sharply, a red light on any attempt she might make to change his mind, but when he repeated the words they were a true apology. “I’m sorry. It’s got to be this way.”


	14. Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered: Part 1

Something was wrong. Something aside from everything - Buffy could tell as soon as Giles hailed her in the hallway and asked for a word with her in the library. It was still unusual for him to be seeking her out anyway; he had been standing off and letting her come to him lately, so it must have been important. 

Before following him she cast a glance at Willow and Xander, who both managed to give the impression of a shrug without really moving their shoulders. They had been talking about Amy, who Xander swore he had seen working a spell of deception in the class they had just left. Buffy didn’t disbelieve him, but the dilemma couldn’t quite penetrate for her when she already had so much to worry about.

Her worries increased exponentially the moment she walked into the library behind Giles. A tall man with a prim English accent was rolling out thinly veiled boasts to Cordelia, who was responding with the rehearsed laughter that she used to attract older men. When he saw Buffy he cast her a smile, took a few brisk steps toward her, and held out his hand. “Ah, this must be the _real_ Buffy!” he said, to the backbeat of another phony laugh from Cordelia. “Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Buffy ignored the hand until he gave up and lowered it. “Okay no. Watchers in this room who aren’t Giles are never good news. Go back and tell the Council I was too much of a brat and you gave up.”

He smiled indulgently and she made up her mind to hate him forever. “That won’t be necessary. You’ll find I don’t readily admit defeat.”

Cordelia hopped down from her carefully posed seat on the table. “Well, Buffy doesn’t readily admit that she needs help, so this should be a match made for reality TV.”

“Cordelia, I believe your boyfriend was looking for you,” Giles said pointedly. Buffy was impressed. This was clearly not the moment that Cordelia wanted a public reminder that she was dating Xander.

She managed to exclude Wesley from the glare she had for Buffy and Giles, but didn’t bother masking her sarcasm when she answered. “Fine. I should go see if he’s off killing people. Oh, no, wait. Mine doesn’t do that.” After one more sugary smile at Wesley, she flounced out of the library.

Buffy flinched and tried to hide it by crossing her arms and leveling a hard look at Wesley. “I can handle Angel.”

“And I’ll expect you to do just that,” he replied, forefinger in the air. “But for our greater goal of restoring him to his former beneficence, we will need to work as a team.” He pronounced _team_ with exaggerated clarity, as if introducing a new word to her vocabulary, and her eyes narrowed. 

“They told you to use him against me, didn’t they? I’m supposed to do whatever you say because otherwise the Watchers’ Council won’t share its secret recipes with me to save my boyfriend.”

Giles was clearing his throat in an apparent attempt to defuse the situation, but Wesley didn’t miss a beat. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but you’re supposed to do what I say because I’m your Watcher. Now, if we’re finished with introductions, why don’t you tell me about your patrol last night?”

†

Magic was the magic word, Xander mused as he trudged past the lockers, Harmony’s laughter ringing in his ears. Half of his friends were now host to some magical gift or curse, and the other half couldn’t talk about anything except using magic to restore Angel’s soul. Xander didn’t know what the latest news was on that front, but Buffy had seemed pretty upset when she rushed past him a moment ago.

Never mind that. He couldn’t help her, and he had problems of his own. He reviewed the facts:

Cordy had dumped him.

Cordy had dumped him on Valentine’s Day.

Cordy had dumped him for a _Watcher_. 

Xander cornered Amy that afternoon. “You’re a witch.”

He wasn’t sure that she’d be capable of what he wanted, but he put on a show of confidence to back up his threat to blackmail her. In spite of her objections, she didn’t seem to have many doubts about her own ability to cast the spell, especially when he explained that his motivations were strictly revenge.

All that Amy needed from him was a personal item from each of the spell’s targets. That couldn’t be too hard.

†

“I suppose someone thinks this is a terribly amusing prank,” Wesley snapped, pulling open drawers all over the library and feeling around in them.

Giles groaned. “Good Lord, man, you’ve lost your glasses, it happens to all of us, there’s no need to call in a jury.”

“I haven’t _lost_ them! I set them down here quite deliberately yesterday while using my reading pair, and I certainly didn’t move them myself.” He squinted across the room at Buffy. “Your friends were in here last night; do you suppose one of them may have, oh, turned them into the lost and found?”

Buffy was scrutinizing him, rocking slowly in her chair, though she guessed he couldn’t presently see her well enough to make out any details. She could see him all too clearly, and she was beginning to think she had missed a lot at her first impression yesterday.

“Buffy?” he repeated when she didn’t answer, and Giles turned toward her too.

She decided she may as well play her hand now. “Are you in league with the Sunnydale vampires?”

“ _What?_ ” spluttered Wesley.

Giles jumped to his feet, whipping his own glasses from his face. “Buffy!”

She fished the note from the roses out of her pocket and slammed it onto the table. “Soon what, Wesley? You want me good and scared before you turn me over to Angel? It’s not gonna work. Maybe I’m not ready to face him, but I’m more than ready for--”

“That’s enough!” barked Giles. “I understand you’re upset, but this is an absurd, groundless accusation. Wesley is no more a mastermind than I’m a country singer.”

Before Buffy could reply, the doors swung open and Xander and Cordelia entered, arguing as usual. Buffy knew that it couldn’t quite be usual, though, since word had it that they’d broken up yesterday. And indeed, their tone with each other sounded especially vicious today.

“Fine,” Xander was saying, “if you’re still that into him, all blessings upon you and your ultra-posh children.”

“Gee Xander, I’d wish you the same if you could have children with your _hand._ ” Cordelia stopped as she sensed the tension in the room. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, nothing!” Wesley said hurriedly. “Come in. We were just, ah, discussing Angel’s latest threatening gesture.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “We were discussing the Watchers’ Council planting a spy to follow up on their attempt to kill me.”

“There was no attempt to kill anyone!” insisted Wesley, but his face was getting redder and his movements jumpy.

When Amy came into the library at that point, everyone looked to the distraction with relief, but she went straight to Xander and asked if she could talk to him.

He agreed and was about to leave with her when she did a double take at Wesley and hissed, “That’s the guy?”

“Uh.” Xander looked as confused as Buffy felt. “Yeah?”

The glare that Amy cast at Wesley as she and Xander left the library could not be interpreted as anything but pure hate, and everyone saw it. 

There was clearly a lot going on under the surface here, and Buffy could readily admit that she had no idea what it was. She did know one thing, though, and it put a devious smile on her face even as she watched Cordelia sidling up to the evil Watcher in their midst.

Amy was on her side.

†

Giles wandered up to the stacks, grateful to be alone at last. He felt that he’d spent all morning defending Wesley from Buffy, which never would have crossed his mind as a side he wanted to take if Buffy had been acting at all rational. He supposed she had reached some kind of breaking point with the combined stress of her Cruciamentum and the loss of Angel, but he wasn’t yet ruling out the possibility of something tampering with her mind.

He had been in his refuge of books for a few hours, splitting his attention to research various topics at once, and was beginning to feel more relaxed when Jenny and Willow came in together.

He smiled as he came down to sit at the table with them. Willow was brimming with excitement over covering another of Jenny’s computer classes, and Jenny herself had progress to report in her mission to recreate the spell that her ancestors had used to restore Angel’s soul. 

“You don’t have an Orb of Thesulah by any chance?” she asked, and he was pleased to answer that he did, though she said he could keep using it as a paperweight until she needed it. 

His good mood evaporated when Wesley returned, wearing his spare glasses and intent on taking over whatever research there was to be had. Giles dutifully moved a few books to give him a space at the table and began to introduce him to Willow and Jenny.

“Another drone from the Watchers’ Council, huh?” said Jenny in a tone of unmasked disgust. “Well, I’m sure this is going to be riveting, but I didn’t make room in my schedule today for an inane lecture, so I think I’ll get some…fresh air.” With the last words she rubbed her nose, as if implying a certain stench in the room.

Giles watched her stalk out of the library, and then, perplexed by what he had just seen, looked at Wesley for clues. There were none; Wesley was simply fumbling for something to say in the gaping silence.

Surprisingly enough, it was Willow who filled it. “Oh my God,” she murmured. “I thought Buffy was just being paranoid, but...it’s true, isn’t it? You’re not here to help her at all.”  
Giles slammed his book shut. “This has gone too far. Wesley, with all your resources you must have some inkling of why our allies have formed these unsavory preconceptions of you. Unless they’re right, in which case you’ll have quite another variety of explanation to offer.”

“No!” Wesley stammered. “They’re not, that is, I’m only, ah…” He trailed off, looking ashamed and cornered and a little afraid of Willow. Finally he took a deep breath and made a confession that must have been especially difficult for him: “I don’t know what this is about.”

“I think I do.” The three of them looked up as Xander came in. He looked rather ashamed himself, and without preamble he went right up to Wesley and held something out to him. “Here’s your glasses. I sort of borrowed them.”

Wesley looked irritated as he replaced the glasses he was wearing with the pair he had just regained, but Giles feared there was more behind this than a half-hearted prank. “That was highly immature, Xander,” he said.

“Not nearly as immature as what’s coming next,” Xander sighed. He pulled out the chair next to Willow and sat down. “I asked Amy to cast a spell. We think it went wrong.”

“Why would you do that?” Willow asked, momentarily relaxing the evil eye she had been holding on Wesley.

“Because I was angry! Five minutes with this bozo and Cordy decided to break up with me. I thought if I could make her hate him, she’d want me back. Only, today it’s like every woman _except_ Cordelia thinks Wesley’s the devil, and I’m still kind of riding the heartbreak rage wave so I wouldn’t really care, except I overheard Buffy and Amy talking and I think...maybe…” He faced Wesley with an apologetic shrug. “Your life is in danger.”

Giles stood up quickly enough to clatter his chair. “I should think so!” he snapped at Xander. “You’ve set some incredibly powerful women against an innocent - relatively innocent - man, and there’s no possibility of them acting rationally while under the influence of a spell. Any harm that comes to Wesley is expressly your--”

“I know!” Xander answered at a yell. “I came here for help!”

“Pardon me, but I believe _I_ am Buffy’s Watcher!” Wesley cut in. “The Council takes care of its own business, and I will handle this myself!”

“Now there’s a frightening scenario,” Giles grumbled, but he was talking over both Wesley and Xander and had no idea what either of them were saying at this point.

Suddenly the argument hit a wall in the form of Willow’s sudden outburst of, “QUIET!” It worked. All three men went silent and gave her their full attention, and she continued in a calm, collected voice. “Whatever Xander did, it’s not going to help if we all just keep barking at each other over it. We need to get our priorities in order. Right?” She paused to receive nods, then said, “Obviously Wesley is some kind of demon impersonating a Watcher, and we need to figure out how to kill him dead.”

†

Cordelia spewed insults and struggled as she was half-dragged down the hallway between Buffy and Amy, but to no avail. Amy had an iron grip on her right arm, and on her left, Buffy was, well, the Slayer.

They were pulling her in the direction of the library, but that was the extent of her understanding of their plans. One moment, she had been telling Buffy why she had broken up with Xander - as if she had to explain herself to Buffy! - and the next, Buffy and Amy had exchanged a nod and taken her prisoner.

The library already seemed to be in a state of chaos when they got in there, but Buffy added to it by announcing, “She’s part of it. She said she wanted to _date_ him.”

“Cordy!” Xander exclaimed. “Buffy, let her go!”

“Where is he?” Amy demanded.

Willow tried to answer, but Giles clapped a hand over her mouth. “I need to speak to Cordelia. Alone. This instant.”

As Giles led her to his office, Cordelia could see Xander fighting a losing argument with Buffy, Willow, and Amy, and for some reason she couldn’t identify, she felt a pang of fear on his behalf. “Has everyone lost their minds?” she asked Giles as soon as he had shut the door behind them.

“Not quite everyone, I’m relieved to see,” said a voice behind her. She turned to see Wesley, standing stiffly in the corner. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket with a flourish and began to clean his glasses. “Of course, in this line of work, one must expect the unexpected, and I’m certain everything will be back to usual form by morning.” He then lowered his voice and asked Giles, “Are they still making plans to erect a gallows on the lawn?”

“Cordelia, this is very important,” Giles said to her. “I’m about to create a diversion in the library. You and Wesley must slip by and get to your car. Take him home and don’t leave until I call you. Can you do this?”

If her impromptu kidnapping in the hallway hadn’t convinced Cordelia that a true crisis was afoot, the urgency in Giles’ voice did. She looked from him to Wesley, who smiled meekly. “Not exactly my typical courtship strategy...but I would be grateful.”


	15. Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please remember to use magic responsibly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? Stop looking at me like that. Updating a story for the first time in two years isn't that weird. Lots of people do it. Right?

Xander expected everyone to be angry at him - really, really angry at him - when he explained that their hatred of Wesley was the product of the spell that he had made Amy cast. What he hadn’t expected was that none of the women believed him.

That would have been one thing if they didn’t live on a Hellmouth and experience blatant, dangerous evidence of the supernatural on a more-or-less weekly basis, but Buffy said he was making it up, and she was the Slayer. Willow basically ignored him, and she had been right there when he explained it to Giles and Wesley. Even Amy thought that her feelings were genuine, and she was the one who had told him the spell had gone wrong!

He couldn’t really do anything at the moment but stand there in the library arguing in circles with them, but then, thankfully, Giles emerged from his office. Xander tried to get his attention to plead for help, but he walked right past the crowd and up the stairs to the stacks.

Xander’s hopes were dashed until he heard the door up there open. “Oh, Wesley?” Giles called out loudly. “Would you come here for a moment?”

Instantly, all three girls stopped arguing with Xander and each other, and stampeded up the stairs after Giles. Baffled, Xander stayed where he was, and a few seconds later, Cordelia stuck her head out from Giles’ office, looked around, and beckoned behind her. She moved quietly out into the library, and Wesley came out behind her, literally tiptoeing. 

Cordelia put her finger to her lips when she saw Xander, but he didn’t need the warning to be silent. He preceded them to the double doors and checked through the little round window; the hall was relatively deserted, so he motioned for them to come and pushed the door open a crack. 

The buzz of outraged voices up the stairs suddenly increased in volume. “Giles, what are you talking about?” they all heard Willow say. “Wesley isn’t even here!”

Buffy was next. “How could you betray me like that?” she demanded, and then, as if to twist the knife, added, “Again?”

A panicked glance passed between Cordelia and Wesley. “No, he is up there!” shouted Cordelia suddenly, in a tone of such forced positivity that nobody would have believed her even under the best of circumstances. “Wesley is definitely up there so you should all look for him! Up there!”

For a split second, everyone was silent. “Run,” suggested Xander, holding open the door.

They looked like they were ready to comply, but Amy was suddenly in full view at the top of the stairs. Her eyes, Xander was shocked to see, had turned solid black, and she was waving her arms and chanting: “Goddess Hecate, work thy will. Before thee let the unclean thing crawl!”

A beam of light leapt from her hands, straight toward Wesley. Cordelia screamed his name, just as his clothing fell to the floor in a crumpled heap.

Xander was sure that the magic had removed his rival from existence entirely, but before he had time to process that, a tiny pink nose emerged from one of Wesley’s shirtsleeves, followed by a pair of beady eyes and round ears. After one glance at his surroundings, the rat apparently decided he was safer under the covers, and withdrew from sight again.

“Oh my god!” shrieked Cordelia. “Amy, what did you do!”

“Giles!” yelled Xander. “Amy turned Wesley into a rat!”

Giles was on the stairs now with Amy, pulling her back by the arm while at the same time trying to block Willow’s path, until Buffy shoved her way through all of them. Giles answered Xander in a terse bark, “Go! Take Wesley! We must end this madness before Amy will reverse the spell.”

Xander looked at the suit jacket at his feet, which was writhing in a way that frankly disgusted him. There was no time to object, though, so he scooped up the jacket with the rat inside it and tucked it under his arm. 

“Come on!” urged Cordelia, and they rushed through the door and down the hall together.

Wesley, who couldn’t seem to stop causing trouble even as a rodent, wriggled free before they were halfway to the exit, and dropped to the floor. Several nearby female students made horrified sounds, and Xander threw down the remainder of Wesley’s clothing and caught the rat by the tail.

“Don’t pick him up like that!” Cordelia complained. “You’ll hurt him!”

“You want to hold him?” he countered.

“Ugh! No way am I touching a rat.”

They kept moving, Wesley dangling from Xander’s hand, but some of the girls who had recoiled when they first saw the rat were now edging ominously toward him, clutching backpacks and books in a way that suggested a plan to use them as weapons. “Hurry,” Xander muttered under his breath.

As soon as they had made it outside, Cordelia pushed out her handbag at arm’s length, holding it open with both hands and looking away with eyes shut as if the sight of it pained her. “Put him in here! Now!”

Xander looked at the rat, nodded, and dropped him in. “Behave yourself, Wes.”

“And don’t eat my lipstick!” Cordelia added. Still holding the bag as far from her body as she could, she pointed toward the parking lot. “My car is that way-- aack!”

The path was blocked. If it had just been Willow and Amy, Xander thought they could have made a break for the car, but they were led by Buffy. When he saw she was holding a crossbow, he nearly tripped over himself. “Detour,” he said to Cordelia, turning her around with him.

“Xander!” shouted Willow. “Where’s the rat!?”

Cordelia shrieked again. The door where they had just exited the school was now swarming with the students from the hall. Xander thought fast and waved his arm at them, then yelled over his shoulder at Willow, “They have him!”

As the two factions of angry women started marching toward each other, Xander grabbed Cordelia’s hand. She clutched her purse tightly against her chest, and together they ran hard.

***

Giles paged through another book, then slammed it in frustration. It was hard to research in a hurry, and harder yet to do it while holding an ice pack to his head. He had ample experience with both.

He didn’t know where Buffy and the others had gone after knocking him to the floor, but she had taken a crossbow, and all of them had seemed frighteningly determined, so it couldn’t be good. He only hoped he could find out how to reverse Amy’s spells without her cooperation.

When the door opened, he flinched, then relaxed when he saw who it was. “Jenny. Thank God. Can you help me?”

“Sure, I...” She looked at the books and spell components strewn across the table, then at the compress in his hand, then at the bits of Wesley’s outfit that had been left on the floor. “What happened?”

He sighed. Where to begin? “The new Watcher, Wesley--”

“Wait,” she cut in, her voice hard. “Let me guess. You don’t like him, and not just because he’s a pretentious airhead. He’s got this vibe that makes you feel like you can’t trust him. But you can’t say anything to the Watchers’ Council, because they don’t trust _you_ , and even if their hands are clean of whatever he's up to, they probably want to use him to drive a deeper wedge between you and Buffy.” She tilted her head, a sympathetic expression in her wise eyes. “Is that what you wanted to say about the new Watcher?”

There was a pause. “Ah, not exactly.” Giles took off his glasses. “He’s been turned into a rat.”

“Oh.” The second pause went on for a few moments longer than the first. Jenny furrowed her brow. “You said...rat?”

Once all of the necessary explanation was covered, she agreed to help him research, with the caveat that if she still felt suspicious of Wesley after both spells were broken, Giles would look into it. She was behaving much more sensibly than any of the other women under the enchantment, he noted, and he wondered if that had to do with her greater maturity, or if she had simply had less contact with Wesley.

It was a question for later. Jenny didn’t have any great confidence in her own skill with witchcraft, but she was a better hand at it than Giles was. After some deliberation, she said she might be able to reverse the animal transformation if Giles could handle the hate spell. “All these years as a hobbyist,” she sighed, “and suddenly everyone’s counting on me to make the magic work.”

He knew she was thinking about another spell, the one that aimed to restore Angel’s soul, but he didn’t want to derail by asking how it was coming along. “It’s a great burden to be someone who can make a difference,” he said. “Most people avoid it by aiming for mediocrity.”

She cast him a weary smile. “I’m not sure if we have all of these ingredients,” she said as she pored over the text.

He took a look at it. “Perhaps not here. Shall we move this operation to the science lab?”

***

By the time Xander felt somewhat certain that they had lost the mob, they were near Buffy’s house, so he led Cordelia to the door and knocked hard. “What’s going on?” she demanded as they waited. “Why’s everyone hating on Wesley so much?”

“I’ll tell you when we’re inside,” he said, and knocked again. “Is he okay?”

She opened her purse gingerly, and the rat’s head peeped out. Unfortunately, Joyce chose the same moment to open the door, and before she had even greeted them or asked what was going on, she recoiled and cried, “What _is_ that in your _purse?_ ”

Cordelia tried to close the bag back up as Xander stammered, “It’s nothing, just her new pet...mouse. Stuffed toy mouse! Weirdly realistic! Can we come in?”

Buffy’s mother shook her head vehemently. “You are not bringing that filthy creature into this house under _any_ circumstances, do you hear me? Take it away, _now!_ ” She closed the door on them while Xander was still coming up with excuses to hold onto a rat.

“Well, great,” Cordelia snapped. “Now what?”

“We keep running, I guess. Whose house is closer, mine or yours?”

Cordelia groaned. “Can’t we just rest for a moment? Nobody’s chasing us.”

Xander wasn’t so sure, but he showed her around to the back of the house so they could sit down on the porch. “They’ll catch up sooner or later.”

“So we’ll hide.”

A disembodied chuckle answered that, launching both of them back to their feet. “Who was that?” Cordelia hissed.

“Come on,” said the voice, and a corresponding shape materialized out of the shadows. “If running didn’t work, do you really think hiding will?”

Xander’s heart began pounding like a gong. It was Angel. They were out here alone, locked out of the house, playing bodyguard and chauffeur to a rat, and about to be killed by Angel. Was there any way this night could possibly get worse?

On cue, Drusilla appeared on the other side of the porch. “Here are two children,” she said. “Which is the luckiest?” She pointed to Xander, then Cordelia, then repeated the motion, singing, “Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor...”

With a roll of the proverbial dice, Xander scooped Wesley out of Cordelia’s handbag and brandished him, squeaking, at Drusilla. “Get back! I’m not afraid to use this!”

Drusilla screamed, a terrible high-pitched sound. Angel watched, impassively confused, then turned to Xander. “I take credit for Dru, but when did _you_ go insane?”

Behind them, the door to Buffy’s house opened. “What’s going on out here?” said Joyce, not sounding happy. “Who are you people? And Xander, I told you that you and your girlfriend have to take her pet somewhere else.”

Somehow, Cordelia managed to be the first one to respond. Somehow, the most relevant information she could come up with was, “I’m _not_ his girlfriend!”

“Mrs. Summers,” said Angel, oozing charm. “Sorry to disturb you. I just came by to see if Buffy was home.”

“Destroy it,” moaned Drusilla, hands outstretched toward the rat.

Everyone was suddenly distracted by the sound of a dozen or more women rushing down the street, some of them chanting a kind of jumbled war-cry. The mob had found them.

“Cordy, get inside!” said Xander.

“But you-- and Wesley--!”

“I’ll take care of him! Go!”

From the corner of his eye he saw her rush through the door, pulling Joyce with her. When he heard the sound of the lock he let out a long breath, but his relief didn’t last long. “Xander!” Willow yelled furiously as she came around the corner and took in the scene.

“He’s got him!” Buffy called over her shoulder to the rest of the girls. She was still holding the crossbow, and she pointed it straight at Xander, completely ignoring Angel and Drusilla.

“Drop the rat!” she commanded, and Xander realized that she was actually pointing it at Wesley, who was clutched in his hands, not at him. That was a comfort; at least she hadn’t decided in the past hour that Xander needed to die, too.

“Buffy, I can’t let you do this!” he answered. “You’re not--”

She didn’t lower the bow. “Xander, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Well,” said Angel dryly, “someone ought to.” In the space of a second, he was on the porch, looming behind Xander and holding him by the throat.

Xander’s hands fumbled, and he dropped the rat, which scampered down the steps. Drusilla went chasing after it, and the mob closed in around the porch, ranting and shoving each other.

Buffy twitched, as if she wanted to join in on the madness, but then she snapped back to attention and addressed Angel directly. “Let him go.”

“What’s he worth to you?” the vampire taunted.

Willow, who had been on her hands and knees in the middle of the crowd, popped back up. “He’s under the--! Xander? No! Xander!”

So she still cared, too. Xander felt a moment of peace. Maybe the night could get even worse from here, but at least he wasn’t going to die completely unloved.

“Plague beast, face me!” Drusilla wailed.

There was a loud crack of wood directly between Xander and Buffy. “Bloody hell!” howled a voice under the porch. A British voice. A _man’s_ voice.

“Wesley?” said Xander incredulously, choking out the word through Angel’s grip on his neck.

“Aah! She’s got me!” came the reply.

A flash of inspiration seemed to hit Buffy. She dropped her crossbow, kicked up the board that Wesley had loosened, broke it over her knee, and pointed it through the gap. “Oh, Drusilla...there you are...”

Angel pushed Xander away with a muttered curse and attacked Buffy, forcing her down the stairs and off the porch. Xander took a look at the gap in the porch and swiftly grabbed another board, wrenching it upwards until the space was wide enough for a person to crawl through. 

The door opened again, and Cordelia said breathlessly, “I tied Buffy’s mom to a chair! Get in!”

“Come on, Wes!” Xander yelled at the porch, lowering a hand down to help.

Wesley’s voice was a pathetic whimper. “But I’m, I’m...”

“Nobody cares about your bare ass, just get it in the house!” Xander shouted.

He obeyed, hoisting himself up and giving Xander a view he didn’t enjoy at all, and Willow came running up behind them and scooted inside after Xander. “Are you crazy?” she said. “You shouldn’t even go near that guy!”

Indoors at last, Wesley managed to cover himself up with an afghan from the living room, but since that was where Cordelia had tied Joyce up, the mayhem inside the house just kept getting louder. Some of the girls were banging at the front door now. Xander could only hope that Buffy was handling her fight with Angel.

“This is stupid,” Cordelia said. “They’d go right through us to get to Wesley!”

Xander tried to lower his tone. “Well, what do you want to do, throw him to the wolves?”

Willow chimed in. “ _Duh!_ ”

“Xander!” Cordelia was truly fuming now. “Tell me what this is about!”

He swallowed hard. There was no way around it; he had to tell her. “You were supposed to be the only target. Not the only exception.”

“Exception to what?” She already looked hurt as well as confused. “Hating Wesley?”

“I figured in a sane world, it would have been the natural order anyway, so...”

“So you thought, what? That it would make me like you again?”

Xander looked down, ashamed. Willow put her arm around him. “Don’t worry, Xan. _I_ hate Wesley.”

“Where is he?” asked Cordelia.

The question was alarming, but then they heard him in the living room, pleading, “Mrs. Summers, I’ll replace your afghan if you like, but please, I simply can’t put it down at the moment...”

There was a loud bang. “They got through the front door,” Xander realized out loud. “Here goes nothing.” He picked up a chair from the kitchen. That was what lion tamers used, wasn’t it?

He raised the chair to face the mob, but suddenly, everyone stopped cold. Amy, current leader of the pack, looked at Xander and asked, “What’s going on?”

“Wow,” said Cordelia loudly. “Can you believe _everyone_ got the wrong address for the bachelorette party! Ha, ha! Well, we all better go check our invitations!”

***

The crowd was dispersing as Buffy watched Angel and Drusilla retreat into the night. Despite their advantage over her, it seemed that Angel didn’t care to play his games when he couldn’t have her full attention, and Drusilla was still murmuring about rats instead of focusing on the fight.

Xander and Willow joined her in the backyard once the others were gone, carefully stepping around the missing boards in the porch. “Where’s Cordy?” Buffy asked. “Where’s Wesley?”

Xander shrugged wearily, but there was a note of amused acceptance in his voice. “They....left together.”

There was no need to stop and analyze that, and Buffy wasn’t feeling enough sympathy toward Xander to comfort him over it. “Okay. Let me go check on my mom, and then we’ll find Giles, and find out if he’s the one we need to thank.”

“What are you going to do about Wesley?” asked Willow. “I mean, is he still your Watcher?”

Buffy stopped to think about it, then smiled. “Yeah, he can stick around. I have a feeling that Xander’s not the only one who was humbled by this experience.”


End file.
